Fall
by SgtMac
Summary: Post S2 finale. In the aftermath of saving Storybrooke together, Regina and Emma come together to rescue Henry, and perhaps each other, but they can't do it alone. They're going to need help along the way, and maybe just a little bit of hope, faith and trust. Pre-SQ . Involves the entire group on the Jolly Roger and the relationships and histories represented there.
1. 1

It takes them almost two long days at sea to finally even begin to see the misty shores of Neverland.

Two days where the former Evil Queen keeps her spine as straight as an board and her head held up high enough to make her neck crink even as she feels the precious remaining energy draining from her body, a bit more with every moment that passes. The pain she still feels from the electrocution is constant - a kind of buzzing agony in her muscles. Even so, she sleeps only sparingly, perhaps an hour or two at a time at most. The rest of the time, she spends at the rail, her dark narrowed eyes focused on the horizon, like perhaps she can see what's out there.

Like perhaps she can figure all of this out if she can just make sense of all of the shadows.

"You should sleep," Snow suggests on the evening of the first day, a light hand settling on her former stepmother's forearm as they stand side by side at the rail. The touch is gentle, but tentative, uncertain and careful. Regina doesn't know that Snow had seen what she'd gone through while strapped to the table, and frankly the younger woman has no intention of letting her in on the secret; she's pretty sure that Regina wouldn't take well to knowing that her pain – her weakness – had been shared.

And so Snow is cautious about her offered comfort.

Cautious but sincere because it's never felt more necessary to be whole than it does right now. There's something inside of Snow that craves Regina in a way that reminds her of her youthful self. Back then, she'd gravitated to the older woman, hypnotized by a beauty that she'd seen both inside and out.

She wonders these days more than ever how she'd missed the shadows.

How she'd failed to see the corrosive darkness that had taken over the woman that she'd first met, pulling her down beneath the undertow of all of her rage and hurt.

And she wonders what she can do to repair that stain within both of them.

"Of course," Regina murmurs, nodding her head in a way that makes it quite clear that she has absolutely no intention of bedding down. There are purple and black bruises around her eyes, physical representations of her bone deep exhaustion, but she's unrelenting in her vigil. She offers Snow the thinnest of smiles, one meant to reassure her in some kind of off-handed way, and then she returns to staring at the water, so terribly limitless and expansive.

"Regina," Snow says, and there's so very many things that she wants to say. So many questions that she wants to ask.

"It's going to be a cold night," Regina cuts in, squinting as she tries to see if a shadow that her eyes have settled on is land or just a figment of her feverish imagination. After a few moments, she sighs, wincing through a sharp jolt of mind through her skull. There's nothing there.

Nothing at all.

"Then why don't you come down below," Snow suggests. "It's cramped, but warm." She shrugs her shoulders. "Nothing else we can do for now."

"No, I suppose not," Regina agrees, blinking slowly.

Snow nods her head, and starts away, not sure what else to say. She stops, then, a slight frown marring her features. "What happened to the burns?"

"Hmm?"

"When we found you, you had burns on your hands and your head."

"They're gone now," Regina says, her voice sounding distant and disconnected. She looks down at her finger, the one which just a day earlier had sported a rather gruesome burn mark courtesy of Owen.

"You healed them yourself. Isn't that just redistribution of energy?"

"They're gone now," Regina repeats. Then, turning slightly to look at Snow. "It's cold and I'm sure David is wondering where you are."

"You'll be down soon?"

"Soon."

It's a blatant badly told lie, and they both know it. And allow it. Because whatever else they are to each other, they're not enough to be able to call each other out on the lies – be they white or black.

When Snow reaches the stairs heading down, she looks back once more, she sees Regina staring out again, her fingers tightly gripping the painted wooden rail like she thinks that anything less might not be enough to keep her from failing into the bottomless ocean.

She has a brief moment of panic – a moment where she wonders if Regina plans to throw herself to the waves. She knows better, though; Regina is many things, but able to surrender all by herself is not one of those things.

Snow's amazed by just how thankful she is for this realization.

She slips into the crew cabin and shuts the thin door behind it, hearing it creak as it shifts against the wooden panels of the floor. David stands when he sees her, and smiles at her, his blue eyes crinkling in that way that is uniquely him. He steps towards her, arms out.

Welcoming and loving.

She feels David's arms wrap around her, warm and steady as she leans against him. He kisses the top of her head and asks her if she's all right.

He tells her that everything is going to be all right.

Because that's what he does.

He's hope.

Which is sometimes blind and naive and utterly foolish.

And she'll thank whatever god might be listening for the rest of her life that she has it because she's terrified of who she'd be without it.

* * *

On the second night at sea, and with the waves rocking the _Jolly Roger_ enough to make everyone more than a little nauseous, it's Emma who joins Regina at the rail sometime just after the sun has begin to set in the sky.

Coming to her side, she offers Regina a cup of coffee and a blanket. The blanket is terribly thin and scratchy in all the wrong ways, and the coffee is bitter like it was made by someone who thinks that strong brew is a test of masculinity, but Regina seems to accept both in the spirit that they're intended.

"Thank you," she says quietly, and if Emma had been considering any more conversation than that, the words float away thanks to the finality she hears within Regina's low throaty voice. She simply nods her head, and follows Regina's gaze out towards the water, a deep blue against the setting sun.

She stays for about fifteen minutes after that, standing next to her former enemy without saying another word. It's only once the cold mist starts spraying down on both of them that she steps backwards. Her hair is already frizzy, and she well imagines that the oncoming rain will likely make her look like a drowned rat. Even the sleekness of her terribly adult pure black peacoat can't change that unfortunate reality.

Two more steps towards the stairs leading to the cabins, and then with a sigh as she realizes that Regina hasn't moved, "You should –"

"I know," Regina chuckles. "Sleep."

"Yeah."

She nods her head slightly. "I'll be in shortly."

Emma thinks that she should let this go. She should simply nod her head and accept Regina's words. She doesn't owe the older woman anything more than that, right? She doesn't owe her the concern that she feels for her, the worry she has about the former queen's curious mental state.

And yet she does worry. And she does care. And she wishes she didn't because it would all be so much easier if she didn't.

"Like you were last night?" Emma challenges, sighing as she does.

Regina lifts a perfectly manicured brow up, and though Emma's not sure exactly why, the familiar haughtiness of the motion warms her insides up just a little bit. "Keeping an eye on me are you, Sheriff?"

"Hardly, Your Majesty," Emma shoots back, though with noticeably less snap and pop than had previously existed between them. "But since we're sharing a bunk, I kind of notice when you come and go. And well, you didn't. Come or go, really. I mean you came, but, well you know."

"Honestly, I'm not sure what I know after that…explanation," Regina chuckles. "But for what it's worth, I did sleep for a few hours last night."

"Two. And you didn't really sleep so much as move around a lot."

"So you are keeping an eye on me."

"No, you just nearly tossed me off twice. Not really loving the idea of doing a face first plant into the wood," Emma responds, smiling slightly. "Sounds like an easy way to a broken nose, and with your magic still on low power, that leaves me with Gold, and you know I'd just rather not."

Regina chuckles, the sound rich and amused and in spite of herself, Emma lets out a breath because if Regina can still mock her, well that's something.

And these days, she'll take what she can get even if she doesn't know why.

"So noted," Regina responds. "I'll try to move around less."

Emma frowns a bit because really, that hadn't been the point. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Goodnight, Sheriff."

"Emma," the blonde says softly. "We saved Storybrooke together."

It's a complete absurd non sequitur; one that frankly only Emma would even bother to attempt - but Regina understands it just the same. She nods.

And says once more, "Goodnight."

Emma knows a dismissal when she hears it. She considers fighting it, and insisting that Regina get some rest, but ultimately decides against it because they're not friends and why should the former queen listen to her?

These days, she wonders why anyone would or even should.

She thinks about lost former lovers, missing little boys and the frighteningly constant buzz of magical energy within her veins. She thinks about anger and loneliness and fear and despair, and God, she thinks about the easy way out, which is never as easy as everyone believes it to be.

She thinks about cowardice and how it bleeds within her in ways that people dismiss simply because of who she is. She thinks about running away, and how very close she'd come to never experiencing any of this just a year ago. She thinks about a pair of sneakers she hasn't worn in months.

She thinks about trying to convince everyone to leave Regina to die so that they all could live. She wonders if that was cowardice or a desire to see Regina achieve the redemption that she'd desperately craved.

She wonders if redemption is a word that only those who have never had to fight for it actually understand. She wonders if it is ever achievable, and then decides that it must be because it must be.

It must be.

She thinks of a thousand forgiven sins, and wonders why she's worthy.

The ship teeters, and her eyes go to Regina's hands; clenched into the railing, paint peeling away where her fingers impact the hard wood.

Her stomach rolls violently. She closes her eyes.

It begins to rain.

She gets ahold of herself, breathes in and then out again. She descends the stops slowly, one foot on front of the other, mindful of the slips.

And she knows that Regina won't be down to join her for a while to come.

* * *

On the morning of day three, Emma leans against the wall of Hook's cabin, watching Regina at the rail, all the while wondering when the woman who had been shocked nearly to death, and then had absorbed an insane amount of magic, will simply collapse beneath the weight of it all.

She wonders how Regina hasn't done exactly that yet.

There's stubborn and there's persistent and then there's this.

It seems admirable, and to a degree it even is, but then, well there's this.

"She's going to fall eventually," Gold says, coming up beside Emma. His cane scrapes the ground, thumping against it in a show of blatant disgust. After a moment, he collects himself, and he folds his hands atop of his cane, seeming suddenly serene in a way that makes her stomach clench and roll.

Because they're on a floating pile of lumber in the middle of the ocean, and he's in a goddamned suit acting like he's some kind of magical mafia king.

She wonders if anyone would mind if she nailed him in the face with her elbow. And then she sighs because that sounds like the old her.

The one without infamous parents and a son and magic.

The one who was allowed to be less responsible.

She turns to face him, her expression grim, and his oddly fascinated. His face is stubbled with salt and pepper, and his hair is stringy and limp thanks to the salty sea air. Still, his dark eyes burn with a curiosity that she finds unsettling and she wonders if she can get away from him without being obvious about it. Not that Emma Swan will ever run from anyone.

"We all do," Emma mumbles, more to herself than him.

"How terribly philosophical, Miss Swan," he chirps, and she feels her hand swell into a fist without orders from her brain.

She gives him a wary look, then turns away from him, and makes to walk towards the stairs leading down to the crew quarters.

"Miss Swan," he calls back, still standing there so terribly calm.

She turns, green eyes tired but focused. She tilts her head and waits.

"She will fall."

"Regina?"

He nods his head, his lips quirking into an odd smile. Not quite amused, but not exactly heartbroken, either.

"What do you mean by that? What do you mean she'll fall? Do you mean down and do you mean…" Emma demands.

"Well, down first. She's exhausted," he says. "Running on fumes. When we reach Neverland, we're going to encounter things beyond what even she can well imagine. The evils there…well they're my kind of evils, not hers."

Emma frowns at this. "She was the Evil Queen."

"He is beyond that."

"Peter Pan? You're telling me that Peter Fucking Pan is a bigger bad guy than the Evil Queen?" Emma demands, stepping towards him.

"I'd think you of all people would know by now, Miss Swan, that nothing you think you know is as it actually is, yes?"

"Yeah, I'm getting that," she grumbles. "Okay, so fine; good old green-tights-Peter-Pan is kind of a prick who likes little boys. Creepy."

"Tactfully put as always," Gold chuckles as he leans on his cane. "And while you're not exactly wrong – though I don't recall tights - he's more of a monster than that, and he will not hesitate to hurt all of us to get to whatever his endgame is. We're going to need Regina to get through this."

"That must piss you off to say," Emma taunts, taking one more step in so that she's right close to him. "After all you've done to rob her of power."

He simply smirks in response. Then, tilting her head. "She's no innocent."

"None of us are. Some are just…well maybe a little more guilty."

"She made her own choices," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Their eyes meet, and Emma smiles thinly, almost coldly. "You always make sure that your hands are clean, don't you, Mr. Gold?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, dearie," he responds, unable to stop himself from sneering as he says the words. There's a dangerous sparkle to his eyes, something that comes just short of outright menace.

She thinks maybe she's supposed to be afraid of him, and she thinks maybe if she was smarter, wiser and all those things that heroes are supposed to be, maybe she even would be. But she's one of those things that heroes almost always are – foolishly brave; she simply stares right back at him.

And he her.

"Of course not." She sighs, then. "Fine, what would you have me do?"

"Talk to her. Convince her to get some rest."

"Regina does what Regina wants to do," Emma reminds him, glancing over at the older woman who hasn't moved so much as an inch.

"True, but she can be…"

"I think the word you're looking for is manipulated," Emma suggests, her tone both full of disgust and loaded down with awe. It's amazing to her how much this man is involved with, how many things he knows, and she understands that what she thinks she knows of him is just the beginning of it all; he has been around for hundreds of years and his sins are many.

Then again, this boat could sink beneath the weight of the combined sins of its six passengers; not a one of them is as pure as they might like to think.

"Negotiated with," Gold suggests instead, with a smile that tells her that her original word was probably far more accurate. "And she listens to you."

"Really? Where the hell would you get that idea from?" Emma laughs.

"My eyes," he says calmly, with as much certainty as her previous decidedly not calm reaction had shown. "Do what you must, Miss Swan, but just understand that the Queen was hurt quite badly just three days ago. What she did down in the mine, however heroic it might have been just exacerbated her issues and drained her even further. It'd be a terrible thing for all of us if she were to collapse when we needed her most."

"Your compassion is overwhelming," Emma drawls, her tone as dry as the paint that continues to flake away from the wooden edges of the ship.

"I'm here to pay a debt to my son," Gold reminds her with a careless shrug that plainly tells her that he really doesn't give much a damn and never will. "Nothing else. Saving your boy – saving Bae's boy - does that. After that, well I can't say as that I care what happens to anyone on this floating piece of garbage. Until that point, however, well everyone is needed."

"Including your former apprentice?" Emma prompts. She's found herself more and more curious these days – perhaps thanks to her new ties to Gold because of Neal or perhaps because of the magic, which now flows like molten lava through her veins – about the nature of his relationship with Regina. He'd been her mentor, certainly, but what kind of teacher leads his student down the path to hell quite so willingly?

What kind of man does that?

"Her most of all, perhaps," Gold admits, sparing another glance over at Regina. "She's powerful, Miss Swan; she'd have to be to still be alive after what she's gone through. I see that power within you as well."

She snorts. "If you're about to ask me if you can be my Yoda, dream on."

He wrinkles his brow, clearly unfamiliar with the reference, and she wonders if he'd ever turned a television on during the twenty-eight years where he'd been just Mr. Gold the asshole who owned everyone in town as opposed to Rumplestiltskin, the magical imp who'd played everyone like a puppet. "Shame," he finally shrugs, but his smile says he'd expected as much.

"Yeah, not so much," she says. Then, with a weary sigh, "But hey, at least you're honest. For once, anyway. Points for that, I guess."

"I have my moments," he acknowledges, and then turns and walks away, off to the side of the boat that he has been haunting since this trip began. He passes by Hook, and they exchange the kind of look that makes all of the hairs on the back of Emma's neck stand at attention. She's already told herself a dozen times that she needs to keep an eye on these two, but she repeats the message a few more times. Just to be safe.

Because the last thing anyone needs is the one guy who knows how to sail this boat getting gutted because he thought he could take on Rumple.

Again.

And fail.

Again.

Jesus, these people and their vengeance. You'd think they'd learn.

You'd think how many times they've failed at achieving it – failed at setting themselves at peace - would be the greatest kind of cautionary tale ever.

She supposes, though, that vengeance is just one of those things that you have to learn from failing at.

Well, hope to learn at.

Assuming it doesn't destroy you first.

She stares after Gold for a long moment before glancing back towards the water. The shores of Neverland, dark and foreboding, are coming into view now. Hook says that actual land is still about six or seven hours away.

Which means that there's still time to rest.

Time to get ready for battle.

She takes a deep breath and steps towards Regina.

And wonders why this feels like battle, too.

* * *

"I'm fine," Regina says, without even turning. It's just the feeling in the air, the energy popping around Emma. The sheriff has always carried a kind of nervous anxiety about her, a general discomfort within her own skin. Which is not to say, of course, that she's not able to handle confrontation. Quite the opposite, really. It's simply that Emma is awkward at almost everything.

It's almost endearing.

Well, it would be if not for the fact that this woman has been her downfall in about fifteen different ways. Some of them rather creative and entertaining if she's honest with herself, but most damned infuriating and humiliating.

Really, there's nothing quite as humbling as being defeated by a woman who likely thinks Hostess is one of the major food groups.

"Are you?" Emma presses, coming up to stand next to her at the rail. Her hand slides out to touch it; fingers curling around the wood like she's not completely sure that she won't end up pitched into the ocean should the ship roll a bit. And well, it has been a rather turbulent afternoon.

"I am."

Emma tilts her head, and smiles just a bit, the sun catching off of her green eyes. "Surely, you don't think that that will actually work on me, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"How strange," Emma comments, her voice sounding almost lazily disinterested. Regina knows better, though; Emma might be unrefined, but she's far from stupid. This is a woman who fashioned for herself a career out of luring bad guys into traps by making them underestimate her.

Regina refuses to do that.

"Oh?" she asks, trying to sound just as disinterested.

"Yeah. You know, Gold just tried to pull that shit on me, too. Well, I guess like teacher like student, huh?" She shrugs her shoulders when she says this.

Regina feels the impact of the words almost before she hears them.

Feels the history boil through her blood.

And feels the pain of all of that history.

All of that time and age. And pain.

It has brought her here.

Wherever the hell that is.

* * *

Emma both feels and sees the way Regina flinches; the motion made more dramatic by the exhaustion the former queen is feeling. What might have been a subtle shift to show displeasure becomes almost limbs flailing out, and a jaw dropping open for a moment before snapping shut audibly.

"Exactly," Emma observes, her smile growing. It's not a cruel smile, though, so much as a knowing one. The kind of one that says "no more lies, huh?"

And it works because all of the pretension just seems to seep away from Regina, leaving her both very young and very old looking. Youthful in her weariness and aged by her sadness. "What do you want, Emma?"

"My first name. All right, well that's progress."

Regina grits her teeth.

Softening her voice, Emma says gently, "I want you to rest. That's all."

"As I told you, I'm fine."

"So are most people who come within a breath of dying thanks to electrocution," Emma answers with a sharp mocking nod of her head.

"Your sarcasm is duly noted."

"But completely ignored."

"On the contrary, dear, I never ignore your sarcasm. It's hard to do so considering how omnipresent it is. A protective device I expect, yes?"

"Oh, is this the part where we volley back and forth in order to keep each other from realizing that we're both exhausted out of our minds?"

The former queen snorts, but says nothing else. If there's an insult to be made, she leaves it hanging, up to the imagination.

"Regina, even you have your limits."

"You have no idea what my limits are."

"Maybe not, but I'm guessing that if you don't start realizing them, our son is going to be the one who does. When he needs you the most."

It's the lowest of blows, and Emma's not one bit surprised when Regina reacts by snapping around, her tired dark eyes furious and hurt.

"How dare you –"

Emma lifts an eyebrow in reaction, and just like that, the fury floats away, into the salty air.

"You really think I need anyone else trying to control me?" Regina snaps out indignantly, and perhaps the words are meant to have a sharpened and enraged edge, but they come off dull and weary.

"No, and that's not really what I'm trying to do here, but I also think that right now you believe that if you close your eyes and allow yourself a few moments for yourself, that you're letting Henry down."

"I am," Regina says softly, and it speaks volumes to how worn down she is that she is saying this to Emma at all.

"You put your life on the line to save him," Emma reminds her.

"After I endangered it by digging up that trigger in the first place," Regina reminds her. "Let's not rewrite the story quite so soon, my dear. We're in this situation because of the things that I have done. Henry is in this situation because of my sins. The very least I could do –"

She stops and turns back towards the ocean, blinking rapidly.

"Is die for him?" Emma prompts. "That would have made everything simpler, wouldn't it have? Certainly easier for everyone."

"Yes."

"Easier for me. Henry, too."

"I tried," Regina whispers, her voice sounding grated and pained. It's just about enough to make Emma back off, but she fights with herself not to.

She presses on because Gold – bastard that he is – is absolutely right; without Regina, they're all lost. Perhaps Henry most of all.

"Yeah, well, what makes you think that's what any of us wanted?"

Regina laughs harshly, the sound almost violent. "Any of us? Please. Snow may be struck by the need to square the ledger in regards to my mother, but don't mistake that to mean that neither she nor her shepherd would be happy to see me buried six feet beneath the ground."

"You're wrong."

"Because you understand so very much about your mother and I?" Regina snaps back, turning to head to face Emma. There are tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, forced back thanks to the coldness of the air that continues to hit both of them square in the face. "Is that it?"

"No I admit I don't who she was, but I do think I understand who she is now a bit better than you do. And maybe she did want to even the books, but she went awfully damned far to do it if that's all it was about," Emma insists as she presses her hands into the pockets of her peacoat. They're all still wearing the same clothes that they'd departed Storybrooke in, and though it's an entirely inappropriate time for such thoughts, she finds herself wondering if there's a place to get new garments in Neverland.

Because she really would hate to spend two more months wearing the same clothes as she'd had to during her first world-hopping tour. She's pretty damned sure that she'll never look at that red leather jacket of hers again – much less wear it – thanks to the forced intimacy with it.

"She thought she was sending the diamond to another world," Regina reminds her, pulling her thoughts back to the present and away from petty things like clothing. "That's hardly walking barefoot through coals."

"But feeling what you did was."

Regina frowns, and tilts her head. "What are you talking about?"

Emma stares at her for a long moment, realizing, then, that Regina doesn't actually know of what she's speaking; she has no idea that Snow had been connected to her and thus seen and felt what she'd been going through.

Though she feels a bit bad for it, she takes advantage of Regina's exhaustion and her inability to focus for too long because of it, and quickly changes the subject to something safer. "What about Henry? What about what he wanted? He didn't want to lose you, Regina. He never wants that."

He's a child, Miss Swan."

"And back to that."

Regina ignores her. "He thinks about his emotions and what he believes that he wants, not what he needs or what should be."

"He thinks about the people he loves. You, me. His father."

"A man he barely knew," Regina reminds her with a chuckle meant to disguise flaring hurt. "And yet your ex is comparable to me in his heart."

"No, he's not," Emma replies. "Neal meant something to Henry, absolutely. Neal represented his history, his past, where he came from in this world and the one you're from. They were bonding and getting to know each other, and Henry did love him because he's a kid that loves easily, but in time, Neal would have been just a good story, something that Henry could say was formative. You're his mother, Regina. He never would have gotten over losing you. And he never would have forgiven me for not going back for you. Whatever else you believe, you need to believe that."

"I…" she shakes her head and swallows. "You still should have let me do it."

"Why?"

"Because it was the end."

"And it looked pretty damned heroic, didn't it?"

Regina smiles sadly, reaching up to brush a tear away. "No, not heroic. It just looked like the end. And maybe one that he could be proud of. If that's heroism in his book, well then yes, that would have been enough for me."

"But not for him.

Regina shakes her head. "I've been fighting my entire life. I'm tired." She looks up at Emma. "The fight never stops."

"No, it doesn't. But maybe the problem isn't that you've been fighting, but that you've been fighting for the wrong things. Making everyone else hurt like you do will never make you happy. It never has."

"You don't know that."

"Am I wrong? Has it?

Regina says nothing, just looks out at the water.

"Right. Then maybe now you start fighting for the things that will actually make you happy instead of just the ones that just make you hurt less." She lifts an eyebrow when she says this, daring Regina to contest her words.

"You think you understand."

It's a challenge, and Emma thinks that it should be delivered with more passion, but the weariness that marks Regina's face and eyes make it almost empty – like these are just words being delivered for the sake of it.

"No. I can't even begin to understand the things that you've gone through, and I'm not saying this to humor you because I think you've done some pretty fucked up and awful things, but you know what, Regina, I do understand wanting to say to hell with it all. I do know what it's like to give in and want it all over." She chews her lip for a moment like she actually might say more than that, then settles with, "And I know what it's like to wake up after that and realize that you have to find a way to keep on."

"More chances to disappoint him."

"Or more chances to make yourself proud. You can't live just for him."

A choked and pained sounding chuckle greets these words. "And what is there about _me_ to live for, my dear?" There's a wild desperation in her eyes, and Emma is struck by the realization that Regina really does believe the words coming out of her own mouth. Sure, exhaustion is making everything that much more dire, but there's a heartbroken edge to what is being said.

Regina really does want to know why it couldn't just have all been over.

Why she couldn't just have gone out a hero.

Why she couldn't have just had peace.

For once.

"Maybe it's time to find out," Emma says gently, pulling a hand out of her pocket and reaching out for one of Regina's. She ends up pulling up just short of putting it over the one of Regina's that rests upon on the rail. "For thirty years you've been as much a prisoner of your own curse as anyone else. Maybe it's time to figure out who Regina Mills actually is now."

"Someone who should have died down in that mine," the former mayor says sullenly before pushing herself away from the rail. "Someone you should have let die. But you're always the Savior aren't you?"

The words are delivered with a bitterness that doesn't quite ring true, vitriol that seems more turned inwards than outwards.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Emma replies gently, reaching for her again.

"Well, I don't –" And then she stops speaking, all of the color draining away.

Emma sees it before it actually happens.

She sees the way Regina's knees buckle violently beneath her, and then the way her back bows. She sees one of the former queen's hands fly outwards as if to break the inevitable fall, and then Regina is just collapsing.

Crumbling.

Moving completely on instinct, Emma lurches forward, just managing to slide her hands beneath Regina, just barely managing to break the fall and keep the older woman from colliding with the hard deck.

She drops to her knees, water seeping through the knees of her black pants as she holds the unconscious woman in her arms, and sighs.

Because, yeah, eventually everyone falls.

Everyone.

* * *

When she opens her eyes a few long hours later, she feels softness beneath her back. It's not exactly up to the standards that she's used to, but it's quite a bit more comfortable than the hardness of the bunk that she'd been sharing – well kind of – with Emma.

She groans and tries to sit forward, blinking.

"Take it easy, Your Majesty," she hears, the heavily accented voice of the captain of the _Jolly Roger_ floating through her consciousness.

"Captain," she says, wincing as she forces her eyes open. She seems him sitting above her, on the edge of his own bed. The one which she's currently within, heavy blankets covering her from toe to torso. They're within his fairly spacious quarters, the dim lights from around casting shadows about.

"You passed out," he tells her, offering her a mug. She sniffs it – much to his amusement – pleased to note that it's not alcohol that he's giving her.

Simply crisp cool water.

Water that thankfully smells like neither salt nor fish.

She brings it to her weather chapped lips and drinks generously. After she's finished the water, she hands the mug back to him and nods her gratitude.

"Better?" he asks, eyebrow lifted. He shifts on the bed, causing it to move.

"I suppose."

"How's the head?"

"Hmm?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I've been around awhile. I've seen torture more times than I care to admit. Never got a taste for it. Seems to me if you want to hurt someone, best to just kill them and be done with it."

"So you're saying you wouldn't have handed me over to them if you'd known what they would do to me?" she queries, tilting her head.

"You betrayed me first," he reminds her with an impish smile.

"Seems to me, Captain, that you were always planning on handing me over to them," Regina counters as she sits further up in the bed, placing her back against the wooden frame that houses his books. "All in the name of killing your crocodile. Whom by the way, you're now breaking bread with."

"I wouldn't go that far, and I won't say as that I'm over it, but well, it seems maybe the universe has been trying to tell me something for awhile now."

"Come up with better plans?"

"Says the woman who thought that cursing a bunch of peasants and spoiled nobles to a quaint little fishing town was a good idea," Hook shoots back.

"For thirty years, it worked," she tells him, because he doesn't need to know just how much it hadn't actually been working.

"Until Swan."

"Indeed," Regina sighs.

"So why don't you hate the girl?"

"I wish to hell I knew," she answers with a laugh that almost sounds hysterical. But he gets it, and shares the cheeky smile.

Sometimes it's all about having someone who can match you. Even if that person pisses you off enough to make you try to kill them a time or two.

"The boy you share, then?"

"Perhaps."

"Ah, but she's not like the rest of this lot, is she?"

"No, she's not." She lifts an eyebrow. "Is it true that you've been chasing her? Because even though her taste in men is suspect –"

He chuckles. "I chase everyone, love. Including you."

"That I recall," she muses. Then, sighing once more. "All right, help me up."

"You're ready to face the rest of them?"

She frowns. "Depends. What happened? I mean, after I passed out."

"Swan caught you."

"Of course she did."

"They've been decidedly rare in my travels, Regina, but there really are good people out there," he says, glancing towards the closed door leading out to the deck. "And Emma Swan just might be one of them. For all of her damage, well, she's not unlike us, but she's not quite the same, either."

"I suppose you're right," Regina admits. She stands up, then, using his arm for leverage and balance. Her fingers go to her temple, and she rubs.

"So there are headaches?"

She nods slowly, wincing slightly. Her body feels more rested – however forcibly so – but now the steady pounding in her head is muddling things.

Making her want to throw up and cry all at the same time.

"It'll pass," she tells him.

"And if it doesn't, I've got some whiskey that might help."

"Of course you do, Captain," she chuckles, almost affectionately.

"For what it's worth, what I said earlier is true; if I'd known that they were going to do that to you, I wouldn't have handed you over to them."

"But if they'd just killed me outright?"

"Such is our way," he says with the smallest of shrugs. She knows that he could lie and say otherwise, but it'd be just that.

And such shallow well-meaning deceptions are for others, those who don't understand and never will. People like Snow and David.

She nods her head. "How far from land are we?"

"A couple hours now. Do you have the strength to go ashore?"

"He's my son, Hook; I'll find it."

"Well, you'll have me at your back. Seems I owe you one or two."

Their eyes meet, and they both understand that he's not speaking about what the two anti-magic maniacs had done to her.

"If you'd killed her –"

"I know," he offers, choosing not to force her to mention her mother.

"Either way, I accept your assistance."

"It's given gladly." He nods towards the door. "What about Swan?"

"What about her?"

"Word I heard was that the two of you created some magic together down in the mine." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively when he says this.

"Meaning what exactly? Actually, I'm not sure I want you to answer that."

He chuckles. "Meaning what of her magic?"

"It's elemental," Regina says, unwilling to call it what others have so simply shrugged it off to being – the product of true love. It's more than that, and understating it does no one any good. "But it's unrefined and very raw."

"It'll need to get better. I've gone against this Peter Pan. Only here, we call him the Shadow and he makes my Croc look like one of your fairy godmother. Whatever he wants with your boy, it isn't good. You'll need Swan to be strong, and you'll need to be strong. Anything less won't be enough to stop the Shadow or his people."

"Understood," she says softly. "Thanks for the bed."

She regrets the words almost the moment they've left her lips because then he's grinning like a frat boy who just saw a girl without a bra.

She gives him a look of disgust and he just grins all the more for it.

Some things, though, are a strange kind of comfort.

Because this world, well she does understand it.

It's one whether neither she nor Hook are what anyone sane would call good people, and though they both hate such, they both accept it as well.

The world on the other side of the door is different.

It involves things like living and hope.

And redemption.

And fighting back for reasons other than just to fight.

It involves trying to find a way to be happy even when the pain is intense.

And it contains people like Emma Swan, who for all the hell she's been through, yeah, just might be one of the good ones after all.

* * *

Emma's sitting on the stairs talking to David when Regina and Hook exit together. Regina's wobbling a bit, still not quite steady on her feet, but her color has returned to her cheeks at least, and well, that's something.

"Hey," Emma says, standing up quickly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. I hear I owe you thanks for not having a concussion as well."

"Yeah. How about next time you just take a nap instead."

Regina lifts an eyebrow.

"Right," Emma drawls. "Because that would just be too damned easy."

"Are they always this much fun?" Hook asks David, smirking as he speaks.

"This is about as well as they get along," David admits, and then he moves away from Hook like being too close to him might rub off on him somehow.

Both women exchange a look, and then roll their eyes in sync.

"Ah, together then," Hook chuckles.

"Hook," Emma growls. She wonders if he saves this routine just for her or if he's actually stupid enough to use it on Regina. She thinks not, though, because Regina has never struck her as the type to humor fools gladly.

Certainly not ones that sound like they come out of a bad frat movie.

The Captain holds up his hooked hand, almost as if in surrender. He glances out towards the water, then, growing serious when he speaks, his words firmer and more to direct, "We're coming close to an anchor point. I'll go settle her in and get us ready to go ashore. I'm thinking a small party should go in, at least at first. We don't want to leave the ship unguarded."

David nods his head. "Good idea. Emma?"

"Me and Regina, for sure," Emma says slowly, trying not to betray her surprise at being given control of the landing party, especially in the presence of a Queen, a Captain and a Prince. "I think it's probably best that Gold stay behind; we don't want both of our magic users in one place."

"I don't have much magic right now," Regina reminds her. She flicks her fingers against each other, and just the smallest bit of flame appears.

"But you have some. Hook, that means you're with us."

"Wait," David says immediately, and though Emma knows she shouldn't, she feels herself chaffing beneath his doubts. "I don't like the idea of –"

"Her with two villains?" Regina asks, eyebrow up.

"Regina," Emma cautions, feeling that old familiar weariness seep into her muscles as she regards the older woman. Just for once she wishes that Regina wouldn't rise to the bait. Sure, David is being kind of a jerk about this right now, but it's not like his doubts are without reason or logic.

"Actually, yeah," David confirms, his hand settling on his hip. Emma wonders absently if he's feeling for a gun or a sword.

"So much for family."

"Family or not, Regina," David counters. "Just a few days ago you were willing to kill us all. You'll excuse me if that gives me pause."

"Yes, well, now I'm not. Need I also remind you that just a few days ago, I was also willing to die for all of you? Or do only the sins matter?"

"Of course not."

"Then perhaps you should trust that what your daughter and I want is the exact same thing; we both want Henry home and safe. That doesn't happen if I suddenly turn on her for no real reason other than just to do it. As for Hook, well he knows Neverland like no one else with us does. It's in our best interest to have the most knowledgeable person with us while we're trying to come up with a plan of action. Wouldn't you agree?"

He nods his head, and Emma finds herself almost visibly exhaling in relief.

"Then we're settled."

His jaw clenches, and Emma thinks for a moment that he's about to say something profoundly stupid like, "if you hurt my daughter, I'll kill you" but thankfully he holds his tongue and just nods once more.

"Regina," Emma says after a moment. "What about clothes?"

"What?"

"You're in a skirt and I'm in slack, and we're both in heels that aren't exactly functional for wandering around an island."

"And you'd like me to use the last of my magic reserves to snap us up some new fashions, is that it, dear?" Truly, only Regina can make such a request sound so absolutely idiotic. It's a skill really, Emma muses.

"Well, when you make it sound like that…"

"She does have a way," Gold chuckles as he sweeps in from behind the group in a way that pretty much unsettles everyone. Emma doesn't miss the way Regina's shoulders tighten as her former teacher slides past her.

"There you are," Regina notes, suddenly tense and wary.

"Still here, dearie," he assures her. Then, to Emma, "Perhaps I can help."

"How?" Emma prompts.

"The Queen might not have much of her magic at her disposal, but I don't seem to be likewise challenged. He glances over the two women for a beat. "Functional," he muses. Then, to Regina, "You always had a thing for vests."

His hand twirls in the air, and it's so much like a magician's ridiculous brand of hocus-pocus that Emma almost laughs.

That is until she sees the way the purple and gold sparkles surround Regina, covering her up almost completely only to clear away a moment later. And when they do, she's standing there in tight leather pants and a rust colored vest that happily hugs and lifts her best features. On her feet are boots that are steadier, meant for moving around, even across rocks and sand.

Regina nods her head in approval. "Better."

"He just undressed and redressed you?" Emma says, blinking.

This time, it's Gold and Regina exchanging a look, and Emma's none-too-pleased about it because it's completely at her expense.

"Functional," Regina repeats to Gold. He nods his head and swirls his hands again. The gold and purple surround Emma, and she actually closes her eyes both trying to feel and to not feel her clothes being removed from her.

But it feels like nothing except air moving around her.

And then it's gone and she's in dark breaches and a white shirt.

Hell, even the sleeves are rolled up.

Functional.

Okay.

"That'll do," Hook muses, lifting an eyebrow meant to suggest his approval of both of their woman and their new attire.

"Captain," Regina says. "Our anchor."

He bows his head in deference to her, and then sweeps away.

It's at that moment when Snow arrives. "We're here?" she asks, glancing over the new clothes that Regina and Emma are wearing.

"Yeah," Emma nods. "We're going to go in and check things out."

"Is that wise?"

"It'll be fine," Emma assures her, a hand settling over Snow's forearm.

"She taking Hook and Regina with her," David says, and Emma gets the strange feeling that David is almost telling on her. Perhaps if he wasn't her father, this wouldn't annoy her as much as it does, but damn does it.

Snow looks at her daughter carefully, and then looks at Regina and nods.

"You'll be careful?"

"We're just looking around," Emma says gently. "We'll be in and back."

"All right. Regina, can I have a moment?"

"Mary-Margaret," Emma starts because she can think of a thousand things these two can say to each other, and none of them will help a bit here.

Regina holds up a hand. "It's fine."

And then head held up and high like the Queen she is, Regina walks with Snow over to the rail where she's been perched for the last three days.

"They won't throw each other in, right?" Emma asks her father.

He shrugs.

"They might," Gold says.

She glares at him. "Not helpful."

"I suppose not. You think you're ready for this, dearie? You remember what I told you about the creature who lurks these sands?"

"Not a song singing merry-maker who just wants to have a good time?"

"No, not that at all, I'm afraid" Gold chuckles. "You'll need to be aware at all times. He can make things around you seem different than they are. He has a way of climbing into your mind and changing things around."

"What does that mean?" David demands.

Gold ignores him, focused only on Emma. "Stay on your toes, and do what you must to protect yourself and your group. Trust your instincts, Miss Swan. The moment you cease doing that, all of you will fall."

"Well that's cheery," she says.

"But also truthful."

"Don't worry," Emma assures them both. "Everything is going to be fine."

She smiles when she says this, tries to square her shoulders and look confident and determined, sure of her own words.

She just wishes to God that she felt the way she sounds.

And she wishes that David would stop looking over at Snow and Regina like he thinks one of them is about to pull a knife.

* * *

"I have no intentions of hurting your daughter today," Regina assures her once they reach the familiar rail. She puts a hand on the wood, tightening her fingers around her. Exhaustion is still running deep within her, and the headache that she feels is still pounding away, but is stronger.

She can do this.

"I know," Snow says softly. "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What then? Us?" She looks almost stricken when she says the last of this, like she's absolutely terrified that yes, this is what Snow wishes to speak to her about. And while she's thankful for Snow having saved her life (twice, well perhaps a bit less the second time), she has no desire to speak of the past with her. She has no wish to speak of their shared pain.

Not yet.

Perhaps not ever.

"It is about Emma," Snow says, "And magic."

Regina tilts her head. "I don't –"

"Someone needs to teach her."

Regina's head snaps back on her neck, sharply enough to make several muscles twinge with just a little bit of discomfort. And suddenly, her head is pounding again, this time not thanks to the torture. "What?"

"She has enough in her to stop someone from stealing her heart and enough to help you deactivate something that didn't have an off button. I don't know much about magic, but I'm guessing that she's powerful?"

Regina nods slowly. "Yes."

"And bad things can happen if she lacks control, right?"

Again, Regina nods.

"She can hurt herself?"

"And others."

"I don't want that for her."

"So –"

"So someone needs to teach her."

"Rumple?" Regina says almost weakly, the words sticking in her throat.

"No," Snow says immediately. "No. I know what he did to you."

"I did it to myself," Regina answers, because suddenly she's desperate not to be seen as anyone's victim. Especially not his.

"Perhaps, but you had help."

Regina says nothing, simply stares at Snow.

"I want you to teach her."

"Absolutely not," Regina responds immediately. "I won't have that–"

"You already do. If she'd grown up in our world, she would have tutored with the best sorcerers of our age. Ones that would have taught her control from the first moment she showed magic aptitude. True?"

"True."

"But she grew up here, and didn't find magic until she was twenty-nine."

"This is the worst guilt trip ever," Regina growls out. And it's true, but what's even worse is that it's actually working, too.

"Maybe, but it's what I have. She's my daughter, Regina, and whatever you feel or don't feel for me, she's a good person. An actually good person."

"So everyone keeps saying."

"You know it's true."

"Magic corrupts, Snow."

"Then teach her to resist it. Teach her to control it. You know what it feels like to…fall better than anyone."

"Fall," Regina repeats, but says no more.

"Please."

"Fine. Because my own magic appears to be somewhat maimed thanks to, well…and we might need the assistance to save Henry."

"That's good enough."

"You're a fool to trust me with this, Snow."

"And I suppose I was a fool to save you, too, right?" Snow asks, lifting her chin up and staring her former stepmother right in the eyes. That weird unsettling righteousness shines in her eyes, and it's enough to make Regina's skin itch, enough to make just a little bit of anger rise up in her.

"Does that make you feel better about yourself? Having done it?"

"No. It wasn't about that."

"Then what was it about, Snow? The darkness on your heart? Because it isn't that easy to –"

"It was about knowing that I wasn't ready for us to never again have a chance to make amends," Snow says, offering up a watery smile. "And maybe that's completely selfish, but I guess I still have hope for us."

"It was selfish," Regina whispers, her own eyes watering just a bit as she refuses to dwell on the idea of eventual forgiveness. "I was ready to go."

"We weren't ready for you to," Snow answers, and then moves away, back towards David and Emma, who are both watching with nervous expressions.

She doesn't see the confusion on Regina's face.

Doesn't see the way her chin wobbles, and for a moment her legs turn to jelly like perhaps they're about to give away beneath her once more.

And she doesn't see Regina shake her head like she just can't understand.

It would have been easier for everyone, she thinks.

So much easier.

But apparently even in things like this, Snow and her damned family have to turn everything upside down and inside down.

And now, well now Snow wants her to teach Emma magic.

She should know better.

She should never trust Regina with this, with her daughter.

But she does.

And that just makes no damned sense at all.

Her eyes track over towards the trio that is gathered together, talking softly. She sees Emma lift her head and their gazes meet.

Emma lifts an eyebrow, almost challenging her.

And Regina sighs.

Because she realizes then, in spite of herself and her fears and everything else, that there's no way in hell that she'll Emma Swan to fall as she had.

Simply no way at all.

* * *

The little wooden boat that the landing party takes in towards the shore is old, but steady enough according to Hook.

Still, Emma thinks how absolutely wrong Regina looks within it, even in the leather clothing that makes her look many years younger. Both women have put their hair up and back – Regina's piled in a bun atop her head, and Emma's slung behind her in a braid that looks far fancier than it is.

And Hook, well he's almost serious for once.

Almost pensive.

And Emma finds herself remembering that he has history here.

History that he's not proud of. Well, join the club, she thinks.

"What should we expecting?" she asks softly, once the sand is near.

"Not sure," he admits with a shrug that isn't quite as casual as it's probably meant to be. "It's been a time. But, if things haven't changed much, and honestly there's no reason to expect that they have, we'll have but a few minutes to find ourselves somewhere safe to hide and watch from. There used to be a shore patrol of the Lost Ones."

"The Lost Boys?" Emma prompts.

He nods. "Far less fuzzier than your stories would have you think."

"So I'm learning about all of your fairytales," Emma notes. She glances over at Regina, noticing the way that the older woman is glancing about. "Not a fan of water, Regina?" she queries, then remembers the last three days spent at sea. Regina had never looked exactly pleased to be on the ocean, but nor had she seemed as apprehensive as she does right about now.

"I'm guessing our Queen is not a fan of rickety little boats," Hook chirps, a full smile coming to his lips. He flashes it at Regina, and she rolls her eyes.

"The Captain would be correct," Regina drawls. "How this thing is afloat is beyond me, Hook. Is it enchanted?"

"Only by the hands that built it."

"Mm. Remind me to find a way to enchant it, then. Just to be safe."

He chuckles. "We're just a bit off now. Quiet up a bit."

Emma's almost surprised to see Regina immediately obey the command, like maybe somewhere beneath the Queen is a woman who doesn't completely mind taking direction and not being in charge every now and again.

"When we step on the sand, follow me. I'll lead us away to somewhere where they won't see us," Hook states, his voice much lower now.

"What about the boat?" Emma queries.

"We'll hide it in the bushes." He points ahead. "There. They won't know to be looking for anything so it's unlikely they'll be searching the shrubbery."

"You don't think your Pan friend will know that we're coming?" Regina asks in a tone that is uniquely hers, deep and demanding.

"First, he's certainly no friend of mine, and second, if I'm the two blokes who kidnapped your boy, I'm likely looking for a payday and a quick out."

"Which means I'm probably not about to tell the people I'm handing Henry over to that there might be others coming after him," Emma nods. His words are sound and make good logistical sense. They're what she would do if she were someone who…kidnapped children. She shakes her head.

"Right. Whether that holds up, we can't be sure," Hook finishes, "But I think for now, at least, we should have some element of surprise."

"Until Henry tells them that his mother the Savior is coming for him," Regina informs them, seeming both amused and a bit jealous.

"Followed by his mother the Evil Queen," Emma adds. "Who by the way probably has a bit more of a reputation than I do. You know, curses and all."

Regina tilts her head in acceptance of this.

"So our window might be very short indeed," Hook acknowledges with a chuckle. "But all we need to know is what we're dealing with and then well, as your boy will probably tell them: his mothers will be coming for him."

Emma smiles at this, and though it's a cold one, it's a powerful one.

She looks at Regina, "You feeling up for this?"

"I am," she says as the bottom of the boat scraps against the soft ground of the shore, the front of the little boat surfacing from the water.

"We're going to bring our son home," Emma assures her. And then she reaches out with her hand, wraps it around Regina's and squeezes. It's something that makes the air catch in her throat and she waits for Regina's reaction, but it also absolutely feels like the right thing to do right now.

A moment passes, and then strong fingers slide between hers – for just a second or two – and their hands are laced together.

Like they really are in this together.

Regina squeezes back, and Emma exhales.

"We're here," Hook says softly, eyes on the beach ahead. If he'd seen the moment behind them, he gives no sign of it. He's all business now.

Their hands separate, and they move away from each other.

Emma licks her lips, takes a breath, and then steps out of the boat.

She sees the shadows almost as her boot is sinking into the mud, a sucking sound disappearing into the air. Eyes wide in horror, she watches as each of the shadows becomes the strong formed of a well-armed teenage boy.

She hears Regina curse.

"Hook," she calls out because she needs him to tell her that this isn't happening. This isn't the plan. Apparently, she thinks, there is no window.

His eyes widen and Hook says urgently, his voice rising, "Run. We need to run. Now." He reaches out for the first hand he can get to, his fingers settling over Regina's thin wrist. He pulls, and yanks her towards him.

He extends his hook, then, like he might be able to do the same to Emma, but she knows better. Her eyes lock with Regina's, and she sees fear there.

"Emma," she says, offering her own hand again. But she's too far away.

Emma feels the pain in the back of her head, then. Like molten fire through her skull. Like tiny explosions tearing across each of her nerve endings.

She hears Regina screaming out for her, the sound terrible and frightened and so terribly unlike the woman that she has been at war with, and she thinks she hears someone saying, "We have to go or we're all dead."

After that, there's nothing.

And then, she's the one falling.

**TBC…**


	2. 2

A/N: I expanded this tale to a three parter so as not to rush things. This chapter is told from the POVs of Hook, Rumple and David. The first was from Snow, Emma and Regina's POVs, and the final chapter will be told from their POVs as well, and will bring all of the story threads together. I thank you as always for your kind words.

Warnings: Some violence, some general douchery, possible torture, depressive thoughts and a fuckwad of a kid (not Henry) getting knocked unconscious/possibly killed.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Hook realizes about thirty seconds after he's pushed her desperately flailing body into the small dark cave hidden behind a slew of trees and bushes, that at this moment in time, he's perhaps never been more fortunate.

Fortunate because at any other time in his life, if he'd tried to manhandle the Queen as he is now, she most certainly would have eviscerated him for it.

It's a bit hard to convince himself of this fortune, however, when her hand rather solidly connects once more with his shoulder, and then in practically the same enraged motion, her elegant fingers clasp over the bone, pinching down hard in a grip that seems impossible especially for a woman of her size and assumed physical strength. He feels a hot jolt of magical energy run through him, and sighs in relief when nothing more comes of it than that.

Lucky bastard that he is, Regina still has all of the charge of a stage magician trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Perhaps if this situation wasn't so goddamned dire, he might even make a joke about such.

But he even he knows time and place.

And even he knows that you don't need magic to murder a person.

He wonders how much magic she needs to rip his heart out.

Hopefully more than she has.

"Stop," he demands, shoving her away. "You need to stop hitting me."

"And you need to let me go back for Emma; they're going to kill her." She sounds desperate, and he wonders if she even realizes it. "Do you know what will happen –" she trails off, shaking her head, looking like right on the edge of a complete collapse. "None of this means anything if we don't…if they don't make it home. You know that. You know why we're here. She can't die, Hook. Do you understand that?"

"And what about you? Are you supposed to make it out?" he demands. He'd overheard bits and pieces of her conversation with Swan before Regina had collapsed, enough to know that her mental state is completely suspect right now. She'd wanted to die down in that cave, and that emotion – that kind of surrender – is just kind of feeling that leads to reckless sacrifice. It's the kind of depression that always ends up in pain and hurt for everyone involved.

"This isn't about me," she insists.

"Course not," he says, frowning because this isn't at all like the Queen that he knows; the Regina he remembers from his dealings with her both in the old world and in Storybrooke was calm and cold. This one is anything but that; this one being led completely by emotion, and not even the ones that can push a person forward.

Like anger, hatred and vengeance.

"Hook," she threatens, hands clenching.

"Relax," he says. "They're not going to kill her yet." It's the very worst of assurances, but it's what he has. She stares back at him in furious disbelief, and he suddenly knows that he has about three seconds to explain himself or magic or not, she's going to find a way to rip his heart out. "They'll bring her back to the Shadow first, and they'll question her. Swan is tough, and she isn't going to just give in on the first try. She'll give us time to find her."

"Time? You mean the time we'll be spending in this cave hiding like cowards? I thought better of you," she snaps out at him, her eyes furiously dark and angry. "I thought cowardice was Rumple's game."

She might as well have punched him right in the gut, because yeah, the words hit him right where it matters.

He thinks about a woman that he'd fallen in love with when all common sense had told him to walk away. He thinks about how he'd run away with her, content to hide her and keep their sins buried beneath their passion.

He thinks of a boy that he'd wanted to love, and then angrily and selfishly betrayed when they boy had rightfully rejected him.

He suddenly feels the absence of a long-gone hand, a slight burning pain in the stump, the metal hook feeling for just a moment completely alien.

He licks his lips, and fights back on the urge to retaliate with either his words or his hand. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he knows that what's happening right now requires at least one cool head.

He spent a couple hundred years in this place; he knows Neverland like the back of his still good hand. He knows the Shadow equally well, and though he is loathe to admit it, the creature that wears Peter Pan's name is a cruel and sadistic monster, indeed; one that makes even a man like Hook shudder in discomfort and a bit of fear. Fortunately, he's also terribly predictable.

And therein lay their opportunity.

"Listen," he tries again, forcing himself to use the kind of charming tone that has always worked for him. It sounds a bit sticky and perhaps patronizing, but he hopes she recognizes it for the attempt at working with her that it is. "It's almost dark now. This is their time. This is _his_ time. If we try to go against them now – especially with you being about as powerful as –" he stops, detoured by the icy glare she throws his way. "Right. Point is, if we try to save her tonight, they'll kill all of us. Including your boy. We need to be smart about this. Maybe that makes me a coward, but at least we'll all be alive to drink to it later on." He lifts his eyebrow when he says this.

She growls at him, baring her perfectly white teeth, and he has this absurd notion that she's seconds away from biting him.

"Trust me," he says softly, because what else is there to say?

"That's not what we do," she reminds him in a voice that's just barely audible, and he thinks he sees the anger suddenly bleed away from her, defeat and that heavy sadness that always seem to lurk about her instantly seeping inwards to once again corrupt and pollute her.

He finds himself rather uncomfortably reminded of the cold hard fact that her fainting spell into Swan's arms earlier in the morning had likely provided her with the only rest that she's had since they'd set sail from Storybrooke.

Which had been three long days ago.

He can't help but wonder if going to war with an exhausted and emotionally fragile former Evil Queen is akin to trying to fight with only one hand.

Then again, he muses, he's made something of a career of doing exactly that; others have always underestimated him because of his handicaps, and he knows that he'd be a fool to do the same to Regina even with his clear acknowledgement of her current emotional and physical shortcomings.

"No, we don't" he admits with what most might consider to be a careless shrug, but what he knows she will recognize as an attempt to swing unwanted emotion away from himself. "But considering we started this together, and neither one of us wants to die on this island, I think it makes sense to give it a roll."

She sags backwards and away from him. "You're sure they won't kill her?"

"Not tonight they won't," he promises her. "Not unless Swan is a lot weaker than we both believe her to be. They're likely to overplay their hand and ask for information about who else is here. As long as she refuses to answer them, they'll keep her alive. They're a paranoid lot and he especially is so, which means he'll want information. That's to our advantage for now."

"So what? We just wait out the night?"

"I don't think we have any choice in the matter," he admits.

She glances back towards the door to the cave. "I don't have magic."

He silently nods his head at these whispered words because just seconds ago, he'd been so very thankful of this. Her eyes are a lighter shade of brown now, less furious and enraged, but he understands her enough to know that the anger and helplessness she feels is never far from the surface.

"We're going to need help," she finishes. He looks at her, then, and almost sighs in relief because he sees that some weird kind of calm has settled over her again. She's no longer frantic, which means she's thinking, considering.

"The boat we brought in has probably been burned," he tells her, following her gaze. He can see trees just outside of the door of the cave, but little else. The advantage of this case is that it's quite hidden – he'd used it more than a few dozen times back during his days here – but the disadvantage is that while staying within it, one is largely blind to other events occurring.

"I have ways of contacting them," Regina tells him.

"Without your magic?" he asks, eyebrow up.

She frowns – no, she scowls – and then says in a voice that is absolutely dripping with disgust, "I only need a little to make contact with him."

"The Crocodile?"

"Yes," she all but growls.

"And you have enough magic for that?"

She holds up her hands and looks at them. "Just enough."

"Then do it, love." They've come this far, he thinks; they'd shared a boat for the last three days. Refusing assistance now is pure pride and little more.

She nods her head, fully aware that both of them are about to reach out to the one person that they despise the very most in the entire world, the one person who has caused the both of them the most pain humanly possible.

But there are bigger things than that now. Bigger purposes.

They have their reasons.

She closes her eyes, and clenches her fists. Were she fully powered, such focus techniques would hardly be necessary, but right now, she doesn't quite care how ridiculous she looks; she only knows that this has to work.

Henry would never forgive her if Emma was to fall here, and more and more, she's starting to realize that she'd never forgive herself as well.

Whatever Emma is or isn't to her, she's become a partner to her in all the things that matter the most.

Forgiveness.

Redemption.

Family.

Henry.

And in this moment, fresh pain rippling through a body worn down by electricity, sadness and exhaustion, she knows for a fact that no matter what, she's not leaving this island without both her son and his mother.

* * *

Darkness has finally descended over the sky, turning it midnight black. The stars here are bright and shimmering, but he finds little comfort or romance in them; his heart is heavy and weighed down by thoughts he'd rather not have. Emotions that he's spent centuries ignoring in the name of power.

More contemplative than he cares to be, Gold's taken Regina's place at the wooden rail, staring out at the water, and the shimmering island that represents the mainland of Neverland. It's then, as the melancholy is settling over him like a thick and oppressive blanket that he feels the almost itchy tickling within his brain. It's wholly unpleasant, a bit like an intense migraine.

It's also familiar in a way that haunts him more than he cares to admit.

He lifts his hand up to his temple, and lightly scratches at it, wincing just a bit. He's been around long enough to know the uncomfortable touch of magic even in it's most subtle forms (which this is most certainly not), and he recognizes this for what it is: someone is trying to make contact with him.

It's not exactly telepathy, but it's not exactly not telepathy, either. It's painful and intrusive, and it'd been one of the very first bits of magic that he'd taught Regina; mostly so he could keep an eye on her, and have a way to communicate with her even when she would have preferred that he not. In the early days, she hadn't realized it for such, but once she had, she'd built up walls to keep him out. By then, he'd had no reason to be in her mind, anyway, because everything she had become had been in her eyes.

It's this oddly unsettling thought that tells him that it is indeed Regina who is reaching out to him right now; he knows this because he's always known the feel of her magic, and this feels familiar to him. Everyone's is different (he suspects that his is heavy and dead); hers feels like constant heartbreak. Hers is exhausting and frantic, a kind of helplessly obsessive touch to it.

Hers feels like longing desperation, and the need for peace.

It's been so very long, though since he's felt her touching him like this, and while he's always found a strange pulls towards his most skilled and damaged student, he also discovers an odd revulsion exists there now.

Away from the lurking darkness that comes with the heartbreak. Away from the bitter fury and self-loathing that have consumed her almost whole.

He shakes his head at these thoughts, these almost bittersweet dwellings about his former pupil. He's here because of Bae, not her. He owes her nothing and her sins are hers and hers alone. That she'd accepted his assistance when anyone else might have been wise enough not to is completely on her, and he won't assume any guilt for her dark deeds.

No matter how happy – no, that's not quite the right word; satisfied, that's better - those deeds had made him. Especially on the day that hundreds of years of planning had finally culminated in his Dark Curse being cast.

"Hey, are you okay?" David asks as he comes up behind Gold, his voice aggravatingly earnest. He moves to stand next to the shopkeeper, acting like they're some kind of equals. Pretending (or maybe he really doesn't realize it) like Gold couldn't murder him with a twitch of his hand.

"Fine," Gold responds, scowling. He doesn't even bother to glance at David, refusing to let the man think that they're having a conversation.

"You don't look fine," the former shepherd observes with a tilt of his head, and an overly concerned frown that plays over his lips. "What's going on?"

Gold wants to tell David to shut up for a minute, to let him focus on the tickling in his brain, but even saying such a thing to a man with David's understanding of magic sounds absurd. He just grunts in response.

"Gold? What's going on?" David repeat.

"It's Regina," Gold finally sighs, once again wincing as the itching in his brain becomes more insistent. Whatever she's trying to say to him, she's quite insistent about it. A bit scared even. In spite of his feelings for her, he finds himself trying to hear what she's saying if only because he knows her well enough to understand that asking him for help is something she'd do only if she'd believed that she'd had no other option available to her.

David's eyebrow shoots up. "What of her? What'd she do this time?"

Gold chuckles, the sound darkly amused. "Far be it from me to ever defend Regina, Charming, but I wouldn't immediately jump to the assumption of guilt first; especially when you consider her feelings for your daughter."

"What are you talking about? What feelings?" David demands, and a strange kind of color overcomes his face, as if to suggest that he's thinking of something absolutely incomprehensible to him. He rather stupidly takes a an almost threatening step towards Gold, his blue eyes blazing brightly.

He's putting the cart in front of the horse, of course, but then best that Gold can tell, David is only aware of the existence of three types of feelings: love, hate and indifference. The idea that there could be something unique and perhaps even a bit special that exists outside of the three labels is beyond someone who lacks emotional complexity. Someone like David.

"They share a son and a purpose," Gold answers with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. It will never fail to amaze him just how unbelievably naïve David can truly be at times. And how much he seems to believe that the True Love that he and Snow share makes him special and privileged enough to be able to judge the lives and hearts of others. "Sometimes, just those two things alone is enough to bind souls together in often unexpected ways."

"Enough of your games," David snaps out, shaking his head. The prince has always had a very short fuse, and right now his complete lack of understanding of the situation is making him not only impatient, but also annoyingly shortsighted. "What about Regina, then? What are you worried about her now?"

"Because she's trying to contact me," Gold answers with a frown. The itching that he's been feeling within his brain is growing, and he's starting to fear that Regina is beginning to push past the surface layer of his mind.

That simply can't be allowed.

"What?" Snow asks, coming up behind them. Her eyes track out towards the water, skimming over the island, and immediately she frowns.

"The Queen is trying to contact me," Gold grits out, his tone plainly spelling out his lack of respect for the couple. He stamps down hard on each word, like a frustrated teacher might speak to a stubborn student with limited intelligence.

"What is she saying?" David demands, a hand slipping to his hip as if to feel for a sword or a gun. When he finds neither, it settles on his leg instead.

Gold closes his eyes for a moment, and reminds himself that he's on this boat in order to make amends to Bae. He supposes killing Henry's grandparents before he can do that would be vaguely counterproductive.

Fun, but completely counterproductive.

"She's saying that they need help," Gold explains. "And no, I don't know why. This form of…communication is never terribly thorough, but it's even less so with how underpowered Regina is right now. I believe that she's attempting to push the basic nature of the situation through to me."

"So it's like an S.O.S?" Snow queries, head tilted slightly.

"Quite," Gold nods, and he's reminded of the fact that of the two of them, he's always liked Snow more. She has the same tendency as David does to think of herself as a banner carrier of truth and light, but there is a darker honesty buried deep within the woman. She fights against the revealing of it, but it's there just the same, and he appreciates her all the more for it.

"So what do we do?" David asks, his voice lower and worried. Perhaps he's finally coming to understand that if Regina is reaching out for help, then the situation on the island has likely gone upside down in a very dangerous way.

Maybe he's finally realizing that that likely means his daughter is in danger.

"Can you use your magic to take us to them?" Snow asks, and he's amazed by the good sense she has to make it a soft question instead of a demand.

"I can," he assures her, not quite able to disguise the sneering smile that accompanies his answer. He thinks that he might have said more – maybe even thrown them a reminder about the potential cost of such magic – but he's slightly preoccupied with pushing Regina out of his mind. She's dug much deeper than he should have allowed; it seems her lack of powers has made her reckless and unfocused and in a strange way, that has helped her in pushing through his more minimally erected defenses.

No more, though. With a blink of his eyes, he forces her backwards.

"Please," Snow pleads, bringing his attention back to the golden couple standing in front of him. Her green eyes are bright and scared, but hopeful.

Because behind love and hate, hope really is the most powerful magic of all.

"Very well," he says. "But we'll need to secure the ship first."

* * *

He'd by lying if he were to ever claim that he doesn't hate magic.

It's always felt unnatural to him even though there are those from the old world who believe magic to be the most purely elemental force of all.

He, on the other hand, sees it as darkness and corruption. Perhaps that's the simplicity of his character bubbling to the surface, but he can't help but view something that has destroyed almost everyone it has ever touched as evil.

And frankly, it terrifies David to no end that Emma has it in her blood.

Yes, one can say that hers is a more pure kind of magic because Emma herself is a product of True Love, but in the moments that he's awake at night and staring at the ceiling, he wonders if that will be enough.

It didn't help his fears even a little bit to discover that Snow had asked Regina to be the one to teach Emma how to control and properly utilize her newfound magical powers. When she'd told him of her request to the former queen, he'd argued with her vehemently, but she'd just as passionately held her ground, insisting that they could trust Regina in this.

Insisting that Regina would never allow someone else – especially Emma – to fall down the same dark and painful rabbit hole that she herself had.

He wishes that he had the faith that Snow has, but he's a man of love and not faith. He believes in those that have proved themselves to him, and struggles to find such for those who have not. He understands down deep that this is not an especially heroic trait, but it's an honest one, at least.

"I thought that we were already invisible to the eye," David challenges after Gold announces that they need to secure the ship.

"Somewhat. The spell I used to hide us is more a spell meant to hide me," Gold informs he and Snow, a maddening smirk playing across the imps' face.

"Of course it is," David comments, shaking his head in ill-hidden disgust. "I assume you know another one that can hide the ship itself."

"Indeed, I do. Fairly simple magic, really, if a bit exhausting."

"And the other spell you did wasn't?"

"Protecting myself is easy," Gold says simply, without a hint of apology.

"David," Snow soothes, reaching out to take his hand when she notices the way that her husband shifts, his body coiling tight. The comfort he feels is instantaneous even if it's not quite enough. He's about as worried as he's ever been; Emma is out there with two people who very recently had harbored no real issue with hurting others to accomplish their goals. That both of them – primarily Regina – might be finally showing signs of legitimate change isn't enough to calm his nerves. Even the fact that Regina had reached out to them for assistance does little to assuage him.

Mostly because it might mean that the person in danger is Emma.

"Be calm, Charming," Gold scolds with a slight ticking noise that reminds the former shepherd far more of the imp that Gold had once been than the simple man that he now appears to be. "I just need to gather a few things first. It'll take just a bit to get the spell up is all I'm saying."

David nods his head because while thank you might be the polite thing, it seems obscene to thank the person whose manipulations had led to this.

"Gather your weapons," Gold tells them. "Strap them on your bodies. We won't be able to travel with anything but that which exists upon us." David doesn't miss the fact that he is mostly looking at Snow when he says this.

"Understood," Snow nods.

"Very well. I should only be a few minutes," Gold states before moving away, off towards the stairs that lead down towards the crew cabins.

"I don't trust him," David says to Snow almost immediately, not really caring if Gold is able to hear their conversation. In fact, he rather assumes that Gold is somehow listening in; the man always seems to know everything.

"I don't either, but I don't think we have a choice here. We can take the other dinghy in but if we go without him, he might just leave us all."

"And if we go with him, he might just kill us all."

"I don't think so. I don't think his fight is with us anymore."

"Was his fight ever with us? We did nothing to him," David insists.

She shrugs her shoulders. "He needed us. Regina, too." She shakes her head. "He manipulated everything so that he could get Emma and Regina here. Exactly where he wanted them to be. He played all of us."

"And now, in spite of that, we're supposed to just trust him?"

"No; we're supposed to do whatever we have to do to save our daughter."

"I know that," he tells her. "And we will, but Snow, where do we draw the line? How many times do we have to put ourselves out there for the people who continually want to hurt us and destroy our family?"

"You mean Regina?"

He nods his head slowly, his expression grim. He knows his wife well enough to recognize that this is dangerous ground; in spite of all that Regina has done, Snow will always see Regina as someone that she will forever want to believe in and have hope for. She will always find reasons to provide more chances to the former queen for redemption and forgiveness.

And even family, because truthfully, Snow has never really given up on that.

Hell, even when Cora and Regina had been rampaging their way through Storybrooke, Snow had adamantly refused to lay the blame at Regina's feet, instead focusing her anger and eventually vengeance on Cora instead.

That Snow had then coldly manipulated Regina's emotions in order to meet those dark and murderous goals, well that'd been a betrayal of her own heart to such a horrific degree that he wonders if she will ever fully recover and heal. He wonders if she will ever completely trust herself again.

"Until we physically can't," Snow says. "Saving her from Greg was the right thing to do, and going back for her was, too. I believe that in my heart."

"And what about stopping her execution?" He already knows the answer to this, but he's honestly trying to understand. In the cemetery, on the day that they'd been standing over Johanna's grave, she'd admitted to second thoughts about allowing Regina to live, and now he wonders if those were honest words or just the byproduct of her rage and guilt coming forward.

"If we hadn't, there wouldn't be a Henry," Snow says simply. "And maybe she and I wouldn't have the chance we have now." She smiles at him, and though he's seen this look a thousand times, it will never fail to completely take his breath away. "We have the chance for forgiveness, David. I want that more than just about anything besides you and Emma."

"You don't owe –"

"I do. So much," Snow insists. She lifts his hand to her lips. "It's simple and easy to want the people who hurt you to just go away. She makes me hurt, but I make her hurt, too. And I'm not interested in simple or easy anymore." She taps her chest with her other hand. "It only makes this feel dead. And maybe it's selfish, but I don't want that. I want better than that for all of us."

"All right," he allows grudgingly. "But I won't let her hurt you again."

"Maybe for once don't assume she will," Snow shrugs.

"She hasn't earned that faith yet. She took your heart."

"And she gave it back."

"So you could destroy yourself."

Snow smiles again, this one sadder. "David, if she'd really wanted to kill me or destroy me, she would have just done it. Regina has never been patient and waiting around for me to destroy myself was never going to end well for her. She knows that I'm lucky enough – amazingly lucky – to have the one thing she has always wanted: a family that will _always_ stand by me."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not sure I do completely, either, but I know that if Regina had really and truly wanted me dead, she would have done what she tried to do in that cell in the tower; she could have killed me on her porch, and I wasn't going to do a damned thing to stop her. She would have won."

His lips thin, and he fights against the urge to challenge her words – even the ones about her not fighting back, a concept that to this day he can't wrap his mind around – and he says," So what now, then? Do we just pretend that she's never tried to hurt us? That she wasn't going to kidnap Henry and kill all of us just because we were going to leave her behind."

"David, we were going to leave her behind."

He blinks. "I –"

"I'm sick of the fights," she tells him, slipping into his arms. "I want my family happy, and yes, that includes her. I want to make amends, and I want her to have that chance, too." She drops her head against his chest.

"Okay," he responds, kissing her on the top of the head. "I'll follow your instincts. I always have and they've never led us astray."

"That's sweet, but a lie," she chuckles, the sound almost sad. He tightens his hold, and kisses her again, because her in pain is something he can't handle.

"Sorry to break up the wonderful moment, dearies," Gold chirps as he climbs up the stairs, his cane sounding loudly on the hard wet steps. "But I believe that we're almost ready. Just one more quick thing to do."

"What's that?" David asks, his tone hardening, his eyes tracking to Gold.

"I need to let Regina know we're coming. We wouldn't want to alarm her."

Snow's eyebrow lifts, and it's plan to David that his wife doesn't believe Gold; it's clear that she thinks that there's no good intentions here.

"How?" David queries.

"The same way that she contacted me; I'm going to reach out and touch her mind."

"Will that hurt her?" Snow asks, her brow wrinkling in concern.

"Only as much as it hurt me," Gold answers with a malicious grin, and David absolutely knows that the Dark One is lying through his yellowed teeth.

"Gold," David growls.

"I believe I told you to get your things," Gold snaps out. "You have two minutes and then I'm leaving with or without the two of you."

Biting back on the urge to argue with Gold just for the sake of doing it, David throws him one last disgusted look and then nods at Snow, who starts down the stairs to the crew cabins beneath them.

"Perhaps one more thing," Gold calls out to David just before the former shepherd begins to descend the same steps. Absent Snow now, David turns and stares at Gold expectantly. "Free advice you might call it."

David all but snorts at him in response. "Nothing is free with you."

"Ah, but this shield I'm putting up is, and so is the advice."

"Which is?"

Gold leans forward on his cane, the look on his face absolutely malicious. "A mere warning: it would be a mistake to put your trust in the Queen; she will always fail you. Even if it seems that she is changing, she is not. I know her; she will always be who she is, and she will never be anything besides that."

"What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything. I'm simply reminding you of your history with Regina, and I'm reminding you of the many chances she's been given and failed at."

"What right do you have to speak of those considering what you did to her?"

Gold chuckles. "Perhaps none, but I'll you this: she's been through a great deal of trauma as of late, and her mental state isn't quite sound. You might even say that she's suicidal. I don't believe that she is as thankful for your rescue down in the caves as you might think her to be."

Suddenly, David understands exactly what Gold is pushing him towards. His lip curls up into an expression of disbelief and disgust. "You want us to leave her behind to die? Didn't we just stop that from happening back in Storybrooke? And weren't you the one who just twenty minutes ago was telling me not to jump to conclusions about her because of her so-called 'feelings' for Emma?"David argues, his brow furrowing in confusion. He can't quite understand Gold's sudden change in position. Sure, there's never been love lost between he and Regina, but to go from moderately defending her to suggesting sacrificing her is...strange to say the least.

"Perhaps I was wrong, and perhaps you shouldn't have saved her. You did that once before, and it cost you twenty-eight years with your daughter."

"If we hadn't saved her, you wouldn't be here," David reminds him, refusing to think about the truth of Gold's words in regards to Emma.

"I was resigned to my fate. I required nothing from any of you."

"You're a coward."

"So I've been called," Gold chuckles. "Just remember my words, Charming; I heard you ask your wife just how many times will you put yourself out there for the Queen, and I think maybe that's a very good question indeed especially when it comes to your daughter and your grandson's happiness and safety."

"I won't go against Snow; she has faith in Regina."

"An admirable if foolish and naïve belief. We both know that Regina can't really change; it's not within her to better. It's who we are, me and Regina. It's who we will always be. If you love your wife, and I know that you do, you may have to make the decision that she can't because she's blinded by her guilt and her love for a woman who has done nothing but hurt you and your family. Over and over again."

"What do you know of love? Or guilt?" Charming challenges.

"Guilt? Not much," Gold shrugs. "But I know quite a bit indeed about love. I know enough to know that you do whatever you must to hold onto it and protect it, no matter who might get hurt in the process. And if that person happens to be Regina, well then, I think you count your blessings and move on."

He turns away from David, then, limping his way over to the rail. He stares out at the water, and David gets the distinct impression that he's about to connect to Regina in the same way that she had earlier; he's about to reach out to her and let her know that help is on its way.

"Time's short," Gold reminds him without turning. "You can stare at my back or you can assist your wife in getting ready. Matters not to me."

A dozen different replies go through David's mind, and he even considers telling Gold that he's being watched, but the words stick heavily on the prince's tongue, and he just turns away and returns to his safe harbor.

Snow.

All the while wondering if both Snow and Gold have a point about Regina and Emma, and doing what must be done to protect the ones he loves.

* * *

Hook watches the Queen warily as she paces back and forth near the entrance of the cave. Her clothes, though much more comfortable than the outfit she'd been wearing when they'd boarded the _Jolly Roger_ three days earlier, offer her little protecting from the rapidly encroaching cold of nightfall, but if she's chilled by the elements, she shows no sign of it.

She simply keeps pacing back and forth and back and forth.

Relentlessly.

"Regina," Hook says as she circles to start back towards him once again.

If she hears him, she doesn't allude to it. Instead, she moves with the kind of predatory grace that he's found so seldom in his travels. Most of the self-proclaimed dangerous ones that he's come across have been frauds or cowards who believed that violence could hide the truth of their weakness, and while the Queen certainly wears masks, too, she is also true power.

"Your Majesty," he tries again, standing up to walk towards her. He almost puts a hand out to try to stop her, but then pulls back. Ever since she'd attempted the mind meld thing or whatever it was with the Crocodile, she's been agitated and completely on edge. Immediately afterwards, she'd scratched at her forehead like she'd been trying to rip the skin away, like she'd been trying to reach into her skull and pull her brain out, but thankfully, that rather macabre need seems to have faded away.

Now, there's just this. Whatever the hell this is.

"We don't know," she says between tightly grit teeth, snapping around to face him. Her eyes are practically gleaming, like dark angry marbles.

His eyebrow lifts. "You don't know if you made contact, you mean?

"No…I think I did. I…I think I felt him," she says softly, more to herself than him. She shakes her head when she sees his expression – part horrified and part fascinated - and continues on with a shaky, "It's all upside down, and I'm not sure what I saw – not exactly – but I think I saw his thoughts for a moment. Until he realized I was there, and pushed me out. I was there."

She doesn't sound even a little bit like herself right now, desperately babbling in her attempt to explain something to him that he knows he'll never really be able to understand. He grasps magic on a very basic level – it exists, and he's smart enough to make use of it when he can and wise enough to stay away from it when he can't. Beyond that, it's all a mystery to him, and he's typically been just fine with keeping it that way.

That tends to change, however, when you suddenly need dark magic to contact your mortal enemy in order to help to conduct a daring rescue.

"You're going to have to spell it out for me, love" he tells her.

"One of the first things that magic users learn when they're taught about mind control is how to create walls to keep others out, " she explains with an impatient sigh, "It's simple magic, but it requires constant focus. For almost twenty-eight years, neither Rumple nor I needed the walls."

"Which is how you were able to get into his mind a few minutes ago."

She nods her head, a strange look of what almost looks like seasickness coming over her face. For a moment, he wonders if she's about to vomit.

"But you've been there before, right? In his head?"

"Only when he was showing me how to do it," she tells him, and he thinks that she must be out of sorts to be speaking so freely to him. While there is an understanding between the two of them, they're hardly friends and just barely allies, but right now, the Queen is opening herself up to him in a way that is more than troubling. "He was the teacher, I was the student."

"Which means what?" he presses, though Hook has a somewhat sick and unsettling feeling that he already knows the answer to this question.

"It means it was usually he who pushed his way into my mind," she states, a slight tremor to her voice. "Not the other way around." Her fingers lift up towards her temple, and absently, they again scratch against the skin there. There's a spot of redness present, a light scratch line against the olive flesh.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes." Her eyes snap up to him and he sees a darker emotion than even fear slip through them. He wonders if she's remembering other pain recently experienced – more specifically what that chump Greg had done to her.

He chooses to change the subject, then, away from things like pain and fear and desperate sadness. After all, what do a Pirate King and a Fallen Queen know of how to comfort each other? Not that he needs it anyway, he reasons, but she clearly does, and he's completely out of his league here.

This isn't their relationship, and he's not sure he'd want it to be even if such were an option. Allies is a good place; he's not looking for friendship.

Selfless connections create liability and vulnerability. They make a man who has spent three hundred years taking care of himself and his need for vengeance turn around when he should be going forward.

They make him weak when he needs to be strong.

Besides, he reasons with himself as he gazes at Regina's pain streaked face, he knows that he needs her to be centered for the battle ahead.

He knows the Shadow well. Well enough to understand that any sign of weakness that they present to him and his Lost Ones will be used against the rescue party from Storybrooke. It's bad enough that Regina is walking around with something of a death wish, but far worse that she seems to be suddenly struggling with how to control her emotional responses.

"You believe he got your message, though, yes?"

"I think so."

"Will he help?" Hook queries. It's a strange question to be asking her considering how long he's been hunting Rumplestiltskin, but if there is anyone who knows the oily little bastard better than he does, it's Regina.

"He said that he wants to save Henry," Regina notes, frowning slightly as she no doubt turns his question over and over in her mind. He sees the concern in her eyes, and he knows she's second-guessing her choice to reach out to Rumple for assistance, perhaps wondering what it will cost her.

"That doesn't mean he cares about any of us," Hook reminds her. "I'm fairly certain he'd happily leave each and every one of us to die here."

Regina chuckles darkly. "Of course he would, and let's be honest, Hook; you're not all that different in that regard, now are you?"

"I'm different," he says simply, almost quietly.

Their eyes meet, and she nods her head in understanding. "Either way," she says, "For the time being, at least, I think that he knows that he needs all of us to be able to save Henry so that he can fulfill his debt to his own son."

Hook shifts anxiously at this, his mind full of pained thoughts from a dark time so many centuries before. "I hope you're right, because truce or not, I will not hesitate to skin him if he so much as wrinkles his nose at me."

"He's not easy to kill," she informs him rather needlessly, and with just a hint of shuddering emotion beneath the surface. For a moment, she looks unnerved, and he finds himself wondering what it must have been like for her to have been in his mind if only for a few moments.

"I know," Hook admits with a humorless laugh. "And my plan is still to move on and let it go. After we save your boy, I'm heading back to the sea."

"Without the hide of your crocodile?"

"Indeed."

She nods her head, wincing in pain as she does so. Pushing through it, she grits out, "All right, then, what's your Plan B, Captain?"

"In regards to?"

"Our backup. What if they don't come? What's our next plan?" She's starting to move again, the agitation returning to her as the pain in her muscles and head seems to mount once more. He sees the way her hands clench – the motion awkward, stilted and plain not right thanks to the electricity that had been poured into her body. It'll take time for her to recover, he knows. Perhaps more for her body to respond as it once did.

And even more time than that for her mind to calm itself.

"Who said I had one? Contacting the Crocodile was your plan."

"Yes, and yours was to wait until morning, which I've agreed to do for the time being."

"The time being?"

"One way or another, Hook, we're going after Emma tonight. We'll wait to see if Rumple brings Snow and Charming, but if they don't-"

"It'll be just you and me, eh?" He shakes his head. "That's a suicide mission, love, and I think you know it. Then again, that's kind of the point isn't it?"

He realizes that they're repeating conversations, circling back to topics that had been previously tossed off, but he needs to know just how far she'll go to bring her son and his birth mother home. How much she'll sacrifice.

Will she surrender just herself or anyone else that she needs to?

He knows – believes – that she'd sacrifice him for Henry, and though the part of him that has always taken care of himself first rallies against this, the other part understands it completely. There was a time many years ago when he, too, would have burned the earth to save those he loved.

Problem is, he'd failed at that, and it's brought him to this point.

She steps towards him suddenly, abruptly reaching out to grab his shirt with her fisted hand. "My only point in _all_ of this, my dear Captain," she growls out, "Is to find my son before your _boogeyman_ can hurt him. Or worse. We need Emma for that just as Rumple needs us for it." She tightens her hold on him, and suddenly he's reminded of a time when she'd had higher hair and darker makeup, and she'd held him in place with his own hook.

"That sounds like you're asking for trust. I thought we both agreed that that's not what we do," Hook reminds her, placing his remaining hand over hers, and shoving her back and away from him. In a time long gone, such a motion would likely have gotten him badly hurt, but these are different days, and while he'd be a fool to think her not strong enough to destroy him with just a thought, he understands that this interaction between them is about more than just threats; it's about desperation and fear.

She's terrified that she's going to fail her child. Again.

"Sometimes we don't have a –" she starts to answer, and suddenly she's wincing sharply and falling to her knees. Her teeth grit hard to keep herself from crying out, but a pained gasp still leaks out between her red lips.

"Regina?" he says as he kneels down next to her, his hand on her arm to try to steady her. "Is it…is it the Crocodile? Is he speaking to you right now?"

"Yes," whispers, her hands clenching into fists. "And he got the message."

"What's he saying?" It sounds like such a silly thing to ask her, even sillier to think of the Queen and Rumplestiltskin as some kind of odd communication device, but the glassy look in her eyes and the way she is staring straight ahead makes him think that that particular comparison is apt.

"That they're coming," she gasps out just seconds before her eyes roll back into her head and for the second time in one day, she passes out.

She doesn't have far to fall before she hits the ground, and he doesn't have to catch her to keep her from hurting herself as Swan had previously, but he does take a moment to straighten her body out once she's down. He slides her away from the wall, if only to ensure that if she comes to in a violent manner, she won't hurt herself.

Vaguely chivalrous, he supposes, but mostly just smart.

Rumplestiltskin might be the one with the most magic, but the Queen is the one with the most to gain and lose. She needs to be on her toes.

She needs to be strong and able to stand and fight.

She needs to want to live.

Looking away from Regina, he glances up towards the door of the cave, his body tensing as he awaits the appearance of the others from the ship.

The calvary is on its way and that's supposedly a good thing.

So then why does he feel like things are about to go from bad to worse?

* * *

It's a good thing that he's the Dark One, Gold muses as the purple smoke clears away to reveal that he and his two companions have been dropped into the middle of a cave that reminds him a bit too much of the one he'd once been imprisoned in. Most magic users after having exerted the amount of energy that he has over the last couple of hours would be completely drained. Luckily for him – and his entire party – his powers come not from within, but from the outside, and are nearly inexhaustible.

"Where are we?" David asks, unable to stay quiet for even a moment. Gold glances around, trying to answer the question for himself. He snaps his fingers to create light, a small fireball appearing within his palm.

"We're on the west side of the mainland of Neverland," Hook tells them as he comes into view thanks to the new light. He's kneeling down next to Regina, who is on leaning against the far wall of the cave, looking pale and more than a little sickly. Gold doesn't need to ask why she's in this state; he knows because he'd felt the connection with her rather abruptly break.

She never was particularly good with these kinds of mind tricks; she'd learned how to work the magic, but she'd never embraced it, always claiming that it made her feel off-balance to go into others' minds. She'd always felt like it exposed her as much as opened up others to her.

She'd been right, of course; and that had been to his benefit.

"Regina," Snow says, moving towards her immediately. She takes Hook's place at her former stepmother's side, reaching for her hand and squeezing it as if to offer her support. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"Quite," Regina answers in a shaky voice that betrays her words.

"He did this," Hook snaps, staring right at Gold with blatant hatred in his eyes. "Whatever that thing you two were doing to connect to each other."

"I wasn't aware that you cared so much about the Queen," Gold chuckles. "But apologies, dearie, considering that you initiated the connection, I figured that that you could handle it better. Apparently not."

"I handled it just fine," Regina states, reaching behind her to steady herself against the wall. Still holding Snow's hand, she pushes herself up.

"Did you now? Because you look positively radiant right now."

"Enough of this. Where's Emma?" David demands, stepping forward, and physically placing his body between teacher and student. Gold wonders if David actually believes that he could stop a confrontation between he and Regina and if he does believe that, then he's truly a profound fool, indeed.

Not that Gold intends to fight with his former protégé right now. It would be completely counterproductive to his goal of finding Henry.

And Emma Swan, too, it seems.

"They took her," Regina says quietly, focusing her attention completely on David now. Gold watches this with interest, taking in the regretful expression that mars the Queen's face. She actually seems to be upset.

Then again, two minutes in her troubled mind had told him as much. There's so much swimming around in there. So much turmoil and emotion.

"They?" Snow croaks, her hand sliding away from Regina. A look of confusion and perhaps sadness passes between the two women.

"The Lost Ones," Hook elaborates. "They were there when we came up on shore. They knocked her out before we even knew they were there."

"And you just left her?" David growls out. "You just ran away?" He takes a step towards Regina, and this time it's Snow who steps in front.

"Stop," she demands. "I'm sure they had their reasons. Right?"

"I'm sorry," Regina says simply, shaking her head.

"You're sorry?" David repeats. "You left my daughter who saved you life –"

"I never asked her to," Regina cuts in, her voice quiet and sad.

"David," Snow snaps. "Please." Too his credit, the man falls immediately silent. As if realizing that Regina will be of little help, Snow turns to Hook for answers instead. "What happened? Why didn't you try to help her?"

"We would have failed," Hook replies. "There were at least five of them, and just me and Regina, and in case you don't recall, she's shooting blanks."

"That's why you called us for help?"

"Indeed. The Queen is quite insistent about going after your daughter tonight. It's a fool's rescue; darkness is their time, but if we're going to do it, then we should at least have as many hands on deck as possible."

Snow's eyes slip over to Regina. "You would have gone after her?"

"Henry needs her," Regina replies, like that explains everything.

And there it is, Gold thinks; the lie wrapped up in the truth. Henry's two mothers have used their son as a buffer between them almost since the day that they'd first met. Now, though, that buffer is gone and there's nothing to protect Regina from the emotions that are surging through her.

So much ugliness, pain and regret.

And so much need.

He sees it in her face – the desperate desire to somehow make this – all of this – right. As if she ever could. As if they ever could.

He feels the briefest stab of…something inside of him. It makes him think of Belle. Not because the emotion is about her, but because it's one that she has inspired him in their best moments together. It's one that she wants him to feel because she thinks doing so makes him a better man.

She's not here now, though, he thinks.

And he doesn't need to spend time feeling guilt or whatever the hell that stabbing feeling had been over Regina.

He won't.

He can't.

Snow nods her head slowly, like she understands, and like maybe she sees right through Regina, but is willing to let her have this convoluted lie at least for now. "We're going after Emma tonight. How do we do it?"

"This is a mistake," Hook tells her, though to his credit he sounds like he knows that his warning will be ignored. "We're going after a power greater than even his –" he jabs his hook towards Gold – "with one magic user who can and one who definitely can't, and the three of us who can fire a gun and swing a sword. Where I'm from, we call that a bloody death wish."

"Well, Captain, where I'm from, we call that the beginning of a plan," Snow shoots back. She turns to David. "What weapons did we bring?"

"A couple of guns, and my sword, and your bow." He taps his side.

"It'll have to be enough. Hook, do you know where she was taken?"

"I don't," Hook admits. "But I'd guess not far from here."

Snow turns to Gold. "Can you find her?"

"He can," Regina says before Gold has the chance to say otherwise. Her eyes lock with her former teacher when she speaks, daring him to contest what she's saying. "He can track her via her magic. It gives off a…scent."

"So he'd track her Ruby would?" David queries.

"Not quite. Ms. Lucas tracks pheromones and odors; the scent magic gives off isn't physical so much as…part of nature. Magic users can almost always sense other magic users if they try hard enough and know what to look for."

"Can you do it?" Snow asks. It's not lost on Gold that this is the second time in the last hour that she's asked him this question. He'd really like to tell her that there's a cost to all this assistance, but then there's Belle in his mind, and even if she can't force him to feel guilt for what he did to Regina, she does make him feel something about Emma Swan and little Henry.

He sighs, and inclines his head in a show of affirmation. He takes a breath, his eyes closing. He feels the magic surging through him as he concentrates.

As he tries to focus on Emma.

Finding someone who has magic in their blood isn't as simple as just seeing their face in your mind. He's not really looking for Emma; he's seeking her magic signature. All users have their own, and hers is perhaps the most unique of all. It's violent and turbulent, but somehow oddly beautiful in its own earnest and honest way. It's pure and kind and curious even if a bit damaged and broken.

It takes him a few moments, but there it is; like a string from a ball of yarn.

Everything starts moving faster and faster and suddenly he's rushing across darkened and bruised landscape, the ground scarred by violence. He sees trees and sand and dirt and he's flying upward upwards and upward, across the beach. There are glowing torches ahead and he moves towards them.

He sees first the boys – at least a dozen of them, all teenagers. They're laughing and drinking and acting like they haven't a care in the world.

And then he sees Henry, sitting on a box, swinging his legs back and forth. His hands are tied in front of him with rope, and Greg is behind him, a hand settled firmly on his shoulder to keep him in place. Henry seems angry, and confused and scared and his mouth is open like he's shouting.

It looks like he's calling out for Emma.

Gold swings around, and that's when he sees her.

He opens his eyes, blinking several times to clear the image away. It's far from the worst he's ever seen, but there is something vaguely horrifying – even to him – about seeing someone so strong in such a state.

"Did you find her?" David asks, his voice soft and worried. All of the bravado and anger have fallen away from him now.

"I did," Gold replies, and there's a graveness to his tone.

"What's wrong?" Snow demands. "Is she hurt?" She moves towards him like she's about to grab at him, but thinks better of it at the last moment.

"Gold, what did you see?" Regina chimes in, eyes wide.

"What I saw is that we need to get to her now," Gold states, his gaze sweeping across his companions. "She hasn't much time left."

* * *

David is damned near close to panicking. It's one of those things that a leader isn't supposed to do, but there's a difference between war and family, and this is it. He went twenty-eights years without his daughter, and he'll be damned if anyone takes her away – or hurts her – ever again.

When the smoke dissipates after this transport, and even Gold looks a little bit tired if only for a moment, David allows himself the briefest of breaths before he's tapping his side to feel for his sword. Once he's assured himself that it's still there, he reaches behind him, then, and extracts a gun. He looks at it once, twice and then sighs and offers it over to Hook.

"If you shoot me in the back –"

"Understood," Hook says, the grim set of his lips suggesting that the threat isn't necessary. Whether his need to save Emma is about Henry and Bae or something else is irrelevant to David; all he cares about is that it exists. At this point, he'd take help from the devil himself to save Emma. And likely is.

David nods his head, then turns to look at the rest of the group. He's not a bit surprised to see Snow and Regina already creeping their way towards the bushes that separate their position from the camp of the Lost Ones. Behind him, Gold stands and watches, his expression oddly pensive.

"What do you see?" David asks as he moves behind Snow. He doesn't dare try to settle next to her in order get his own visual; too much movement will alert the teenagers and could endanger Emma. They need to know what's happening before they move; they need to figure out how to get to Emma and Henry without anyone getting unnecessarily injured.

"I see her," Snow says quietly. "And something is wrong with her."

"What kind of something?" David queries, squinting as if to see if he can make out something even from his currently inadequate vantage point.

"She's been drugged," Hook informs him as well as the others. "They have this…smoke that they use. It's some kind of hallucinogenic, and when it gets into you, it causes a pretty ugly reaction. I've seen them use it to torture someone repeatedly for weeks. Until the person broke completely."

"Are you saying she won't recognize us?" Snow asks as she slips backward so that David can take her place next to Regina, who has refused to move from her position next to the bushes. Her eyes are staring straight ahead, and he almost reluctantly; he follows her gaze, towards where Emma is.

She's lying on a bed make of trees in the middle of the camp. She's been restrained, and the way she looks, it reminds him uncomfortably of how Regina had looked when they'd found her strapped down to Greg's table.

Nearly dead after hours of torture.

The only difference is, Emma is conscious and she's screaming.

She looks like she's in absolute agony; her green eyes torn wide open in fear, her body thrashing around like she's in the middle of a violent seizure.

A few feet away from her, David sees Henry still forced into the sitting position on a box, Greg still above him holding him in place. The boy looks terrified, completely helpless to stop his mother from being hurt.

"Probably won't," Hood admits.

Regina turns her head. "Have you ever been submitted to this smoke?"

"Aye," Hook nods. "Once, and I can't say as I remember much of it besides the dreams that I occasionally get, and the body of my third mate that I had to bury after I murdered him in cold blood." The words are said with little emotion, but Hook's eyes betray him for the slightest of moments.

"Can they control what she sees in these visions?" David queries.

"I believe so. The Shadow wanted me to see –" Hook looks over at Gold, and when he speaks, his tone is flat and cold, "- the people that I'd loved and lost. He wanted me to see my failures. He wanted to break me."

"What would he be showing Emma?" Snow asks.

"Her past," Regina answers immediately. Her dark eyes close for just a moment longer than they normally would, and it's clear to even David that she's fighting back some kind of intense feeling. Something that looks a lot like guilt and remorse and he thinks for the briefest of moments about Gold saying that she's somewhat suicidal right about now. "Her childhood."

"We need to get to her," David states, starting to stand.

"You're just going to charge in, are you now?" Gold asks, almost sneering.

"No, you're going to create a distraction, and then Hook and I are going to try to take out as many of the Lost Ones as we can while Snow and Regina get to Emma and Henry and get them to safety. Does that work for you?"

"It works for me, mate," Hook responds immediately.

"I'll get Emma, you get Henry?" Snow suggests.

Regina nods slowly, her eyes sliding back to Emma for a brief moment.

"Gold?" David prompts once he forces himself to look away from Regina. He finds that try as he might; he's not quite able to wrap his mind around the turbulent emotions that he sees playing across the former queen's face.

"You want a distraction?" Gold queries with a cold chuckle. "Well, then, a distraction you shall have." He brings his hands up and swirls them around in the air. Purple smoke spills from his fingers for a movement and then he throws it forward, towards the camp.

Almost immediately, the living trees and plants surrounding the Lost Ones begin to lurch forward, as if they've been animated and turned into thinking creatures capable of violence. A branch swings down and picks up a boy who looks to be about fifteen and hurls him towards a rock. His head cracks against it with a wet thud, and falls completely and frighteningly still.

Normally, David might be disgusted with what he sees, but all he focuses on is clearing a path for Snow and Regina to get his daughter and grandson.

Nothing else matters.

He pulls his sword, nods at Hook, and then the two of them surge forth.

**TBC...**


	3. 3

A/N: As always, much thanks.

Warnings: Some salty language, a very very very brief mention of child abuse suffered in the system, violence, death and surrender.

* * *

There's so much violence and pain all around her, but in this terrifying moment in time, all Regina sees is her son. All she sees is Henry.

He's scared and wide-eyed, and yet so very hopeful in spite of everything that's happening simply because that's who he is. This understanding hits her hard right in the middle of her chest as she moves towards him.

There's something else there, too, though; the startling realization that the raw emotion, which she now sees in his Emma Swan like green eyes, is – for the first time that she can ever truly recall – directed towards her.

Henry actually – rather inexplicably, really - believes in her.

He believes that she can make this right. He believes that she can save him.

She hopes to hell that she can.

Her energy is low, and her body is desperately fatigued, but still she strides towards him, her hands out in front of her as if to suggest that she's about to send bolts of magic towards the two idiots who have taken her child.

The woman is called Tamara, and well, then there's Owen Flynn. He goes by Greg Mendell these days, and the small child that she'd bonded with – and hurt so very badly – almost thirty years ago is long gone.

A casualty of her vengeance, loneliness and desperate need for love.

He's staring at her, and she sees such hatred burning in his eyes. She might have cared – might have felt the weight of his fury and her guilt - if not for the fact that his hand is on Henry's shoulder, and he's pushing down hard.

Behind her, so very much is happening. David, Rumple and Hook are fighting off the well-armed teenage boys, and to her left, Snow moves towards Emma, who remains tied to the table, thrashing violently. Snow's steps are cautious and wary, and yeah, that's probably a good idea.

Regina allows for a thought about Emma – worries for her and her sanity – but then everything becomes Henry again, and there just isn't anything else.

"Let him go," she says to Owen, her eyes locked on his. "And no one else has to get hurt." She's using her deepest voice, the one that always used to make the big men who thought themselves impressive cringe and crumble.

And Owen does shudder, but not nearly enough. She notices the way his fingers press into Henry's shoulder, turning white at the knuckles, and she sees the way Tamara reaches for his elbow, as if to tell him to stay strong.

Her eyes narrow to slits, and her lips curls up into her cruelest sneer.

"Mom," Henry whispers, his voice trembling enough to remind her of his age. Not that she can ever truly forget; she likes to think that fifteen years from now, he'll be pleading her with her to realize that he's an adult now.

Because that thought means that they're both still alive. And safe.

And hopefully somewhat happy.

"It's all right, sweetheart; we're going home now."

"You're not," Owen stammers out, flashing her his teeth when he accents his words with a growl that looks both childish and so very small. "You're not ever leaving here, Regina, and neither is he. You don't deserve that."

"Perhaps not," she agrees. "But we both know that he does."

"That's not how this is going to work," Owen tells her, shaking his head.

"And how is this going to work?" she presses, taking another step forward.

"I'm going to kill you," he announces. "And then he'll take your son. He'll raise your son like you wanted to raise me. He'll probably do it better."

His words are so young and naïve; spoken like a boy trapped in time (ironic she thinks with more than a little bitterness). "You think I'm bad," she tells Owen, trying to reason with him even though she's knows that she's wasting both her time and energy. "And I am, but he – the Shadow – is worse."

"There's nothing worse than you," Owen snaps back, pressing his fingers into Henry's shoulder once more when the boy again calls for his mother.

"You might be surprised," Regina murmurs.

Her eyes flicker up, past Henry and past Owen, who is falling apart so very quickly now. She finds the dark frightened eyes of Tamara and stares right at the other woman – right into her troubled soul, if that's even possible.

Behind her, she hears a scream (it sounds like Emma, she thinks with a sudden uncomfortable sharpness right in the middle of her chest), but blocks it out, because she doesn't dare shift focus away from Henry.

"This wasn't part of your plan now was it, dear?" Regina asks Tamara.

"Don't talk to her," Owen orders.

Still a Queen in spite of all that she has been through, she ignores his command, and continues exerting pressure on Tamara. "You never intended to get stuck in a world that you don't understand with a lover who can't control his emotions, and might end up getting both of you killed, did you?"

"Shut up," Tamara growls out, her hand tightening on Owen's elbow.

"It was one thing," Regina presses on, taking another step forward. She swirls her hand around, and just the slightest hint of purple smoke bubbles to the surface. It's a show, of course, because there's so very little magic within her now, but they don't need to know that. "When we were back in Storybrooke, and you were in complete control. You had your fancy little science, and you had me tied down to a table. That was power, wasn't it?"

"Mom," Henry gasps out once more, and she wonders if he's calling for her because of what she'd said about herself being tied down or because Owen's fingers are digging in even deeper now. She hopes to hell that it's the latter; he doesn't need to know the truth of the former. He doesn't need to ever know of the pain she'd felt or the cruel (yet true) words she'd said to Owen in order to push him towards ending the pain and hurt.

He doesn't need to know how she'd prayed for death a dozen times over.

"Release my son now," Regina practically purrs. "And I might let you live. If you don't, I will rip the both of you apart limb by limb and let this Pan fellow enjoy whatever is left of you, which you should know, my dears, won't be terribly much at all. I'm not known for showing mercy to my enemies."

Her eyes meet Henry's and she hopes that he understands why she is using such violent words; she hopes desperately that he knows that she would do anything – anything and everything – to keep him safe from harm.

She's let her son down so very many times, she thinks, but not this one, and if blood has to soak the sand and her hands once more, well then, so be it.

"No," Owen says simply, his tone petulant and half-crazed. "No. Never."

"Do you think I'm bluffing, you silly boy? Do you really think I won't kill you both?" Regina growls out. Her eyes go to Tamara again. "You know I will," she tells the woman. "The two of you mean nothing to me. Nothing."

"Greg," Tamara says. Her eyes snap around. This isn't personal for her like it is for Owen, and in this moment – with all the fighting going on behind them, and blood and the screaming and the unbelievable pain – Regina knows that the woman is wondering if any of this is worth it.

Right now, Regina knows that Tamara is wondering if she can just grab her lover by his hand, and yank him away from the madness.

A time ago, Regina would never have allowed such; even after rescuing her child, she would have still destroyed these two idiots for daring to touch what belonged to her. She would have killed them both as slowly and as painfully as possible. Back then; taking something from her would be met by the worst of punishments. Things are different now; she's different now.

Now, all she wants is her son, and if that means giving up on vengeance for a few minutes, well then that's something that she's more than willing to do.

She doesn't care if these two live or die; she only wants Henry safe.

She licks her lips, and takes one final step forward, to the point of being just inches away from Owen and Tamara. "Last chance," she warns, snapping her fingers and making purple sparks pop noisily into the air. They're parlor tricks, and part of her chafes at the humiliation of having to use them. The other part of her, though, it just doesn't care; you use what you have to use.

"Greg," Tamara repeats. "Leave him, baby. Please." She swallows hard, and looks around, and suddenly whatever true believer had once run through her veins like blood has turned to stone, and she only wants freedom.

She only wants to live.

"No," Owen insists. "The Queen pays for what she did to me. For what she did to my father. She pays. And so does he." He squeezes Henry again.

"We're going to be the ones who pay," Tamara tells him. "This isn't our fight; leave the boy and let's go. She won't follow." She locks eyes with Regina, pleading and begging the former queen to confirm her words.

"I won't," Regina says, so very quietly. "Just give me my son, and go."

"I can't," Owen snaps back. "Not until you feel what I feel."

"I can't," she says, echoing his words. There's sincerity in her eyes, and in her words, but he's so angry and he only sees that she's mocking him. She knows this feeling well, and knows that this situation is about to explode.

And then it does.

Thanks to Emma Swan.

* * *

There are a hundred different flavors of hell in the world.

One is being separated from the man that you love almost more than life itself, and having to fight like hell to get back to him. Another is living with the knowledge that your father was murdered by his wife – a woman whom you still love in spite of your history with her - and there might actually be a reason behind his death that's more than a little unsettling on all sides of the coin. And then, of course, there's losing your beloved child for twenty-eight long years even if you'd spent those years unaware of her existence.

This, though, this is somehow so very much worse than any of those things, because this is her child screaming in unbearable pain. This is the knowledge – at least deep down - that there's very little she can do to help Emma.

And it hurts; dear God does it hurt.

It's the kind of hurt that runs far deeper than the skin, and settles into the middle of her heart in a way that makes her feel like she's being torn apart.

She pushes it down as deep as she can, though, because she can't allow her fear to paralyze her when Emma needs her the very most. Her eyes track towards her blonde daughter, narrowing as they do so. She takes in the sight of Emma – tied to the table, alter or whatever the hell the thing is that she's on – her wrists bound to the sides by some kind of thick brown rope.

She's twisting and turning against her binds, but she doesn't seem to be aware that she's actually doing so; her struggles seem to be more about whatever she's seeing inside of her head as opposed to her restraints.

Her badly shaking hands extended outwards as if to suggest that she's not threat to her daughter, Snow moves slowly towards her. Not that it matters; assuming Emma is even conscious enough to be aware of her mothers' presence, she's certainly not lucid enough to know who it is approaching her. "Emma," she says softly. "Honey, can you hear me?"

It occurs to her, then, that no; Emma might not be able to hear her words over the sounds of fighting that are coming from all around her.

Or the sound of her own screams as they tear from her abused throat. They're ragged and terrible, like she's been shredded from the inside. Worse than that, though, are the babbled words that keep leaking out – things that sound like "no" and "please" and even oh, God "help".

"Emma," she tries again. "I'm here."

And still Emma cries out, her eyes wide and staring upwards, as if she's looking at something horrible that no one else in the world can see.

Snow turns to her side, looking for help. She spots Regina walking towards Owen, and shudders a bit when she sees the intensity of the posture that her former stepmother has adopted. There's violence in Regina's walk, and the way she's swirling her hands around; well, she means to kill if she has to.

A look back at Emma, and for the first time, perhaps Snow understands Regina a little bit more than she ever really has before. She finally realizes just how far she's willing to go to protect the people she loves.

Killing Cora? Well that was one thing. There'd been anger and spite and vengeance and rage in what she'd done that day, but this? Well, if need be, Snow understands in this moment that she'd burn this entire camp to the ground if it means saving her daughter from any further pain and hurt.

A glance to her left, and she sees Hook and David fighting nearly back to back with each other, the two of them both swinging swords around like they've been doing it nonstop for years. She hears Hook laugh, and if this situation were a far different one, she might even chuckle at the joy she hears in the pirates' voice; he's not happy because of the violence, but rather because of the action. This is his element – his playground.

That it involves the blood of children, well that realization sobers her.

A few feet away from Hook and David, she sees Rumple leaning on his cane. He's throwing magic every now and again, but he almost looks bored.

Like this isn't his fight. Like he doesn't care who lives or dies. He doesn't, Snow thinks. She corrects herself immediately, because there is one person that changes everything. One soul that will make him fight to the death.

She watches for a moment as Rumple's eyes flicker across the camp towards Regina, and then up to where Henry is being held. She sees a hard line form across his thin lips, and knows in this moment exactly who the imp will protect at all costs, and though she refuses to extend trust towards a man who would shrug at the deaths of the rest of his traveling party, at least she knows that he will fight for Henry's life. Right now, that's something.

Right now, this knowledge allows her to focus on what means the most to her. "Emma, it's okay. You're okay," she says, returning her eyes to Emma.

They're just words, and they mean so very little, but she has no idea how to tell her child what she needs to hear to stop this nightmare. Whatever it is.

"Please, stop," Emma whimpers, and it takes every bit of strength Snow has not to fall to her knees and weep. She doesn't, though; she keeps moving, her fists clenching and unclenching with each step she takes.

She finally gets to the table, and hesitantly, her hands shaking, reaches for Emma, sliding a palm over the blonde's bound left wrist. Immediately, Emma stills, swallowing convulsively. Her eyes shoot open even wider, and for the briefest of moments, Snow thinks that maybe – just maybe - Emma is actually aware that her mother is standing next her, touching her.

"Mom," she whimpers.

Snow feels her heart seize and then shatter. She closes her eyes and forces back tears. She finds herself praying that Emma isn't actually crying out for her even as her insides squeeze at the realization that her daughter is very much doing exactly that. "I've got you," she says as she pulls a sharp knife from her belt, and starts to cut the ropes away. "I'm just going to –"

"I wouldn't do that," Rumple advises, suddenly appearing at her side. He swirls his palm, and a fireball appears between his fingers. With a casual flick of his wrist, he throws the bright orb towards a boy who looks to be about fifteen years old. It collides with his lean frame, and he screams in agony.

Snow does her damnedest to pretend that she doesn't see it.

"Why?" she demands, her hands still atop Emma's.

"Because your daughter is not exactly with us at the moment."

Snow tilts her head. "What does that mean? Where is she?"

"In his playground," Rumple tells her, his tone almost disinterested.

"His?"

"Peter Pan. The Shadow. I believe he has more names than that, dearie, but you'll need to ask our hooked _friend_ about those. What I do know is that Pan is playing around in her mind; showing her things she'd probably prefer not to see. You see that smoke there? That's her natural magic coming to the surface; the more frightened she gets, the less she can control it."

"So what do I do?" Snow asks, her fingers interlacing with Emma's. She squeezes as hard as she can, trying to send Emma as much strength as possible; trying to tell her daughter that she's not alone in this.

"There's nothing that you can do," he shrugs. "Not you, anyway."

"Gold," Snow hisses out. "Tell me how to help my daughter or so –"

He laughs, and waves his hand at her. Not to create magic, but to dismiss her threat as if she's no more dangerous to him than a small child would be.

She's probably not, she realizes as she watches him throw a slice of magic across the camp. It explodes into a sharp circle of flame that just does manage to protect David from getting his head removed from his shoulders.

"Please," Snow pleads with him, changing tactics. She's a bit unnerved by just how easy it is to look away from David, but yeah, Emma matters more.

There are tears shining brightly in her eyes, and she knows how dangerous it is to deal with this man from a place of weakness, but he came on this voyage to try to do right by his son's memory, and she has to believe that part of that involves protecting that woman that his son had once loved.

He opens his mouth to respond, and she thinks that she's about to get something honest and useful from him, because for a moment, she doesn't see the trickster that had set so many terrible things in motion. For a moment, she sees only the broken man whose heart has been broken.

The man who had wanted to be a father as much as she has always wanted to be a mother. As much as she has always needed to be a mother.

But then he's shaking his head. "She'll have to wait, I'm afraid. Unless you'd prefer I leave your dear husband unguarded. Which, if I do," he reminds her with a smirk that's just shy of cruel, "Will likely cost him his life." He gestures towards David and Hook, showing her how intense the fighting has quickly become; the men are holding their own, but absent assistive magic and additional manpower, they're looking like extreme underdogs.

Snow growls, and turns back to Emma, who has been shaking and shuddering again, small whimpers of pain bursting forth from her throat. Her hands are spasming, reaching for everything and nothing all at once.

To hell with whatever the Shadow is doing to her, Snow thinks, and to hell with Rumple's warnings (he's returned to the fight completely now, she notices; caring only as much as to be thankful that David does have some protection at his back besides just Hook); she's not going to allow Emma to stay tied down like this for a moment longer. She simply will not.

She cuts the ropes away, quickly and with anger, and then reaches for Emma, her hand settling over her daughter's shoulder. She pulls Emma up towards her, and into her protective – hopefully soothing - arms.

That's when she feels it; that's when she feels the magic inside of Emma.

It's like a poisonous snake traveling up Emma's arms, through her hands and across her skin. It is far deeper and more invasive than that, though, Snow realizes; this magic, well it's racing through Emma's veins like contaminated blood. It's a lot like fire and ice, like life and death. Like a thousand other contradictions that somehow both destroy and provide simultaneously.

This is what magic feels like when it's touching you skin on skin, Snow realizes with more fear than she's ever felt before.

And then Emma explodes.

The last thing Snow feels before everything goes so very black and cold is the sensation of being thrown backwards. There's stale air behind her – and heat as she passes through fire – and then something hard and solid as her head and back connect with the ground. She sees swirling red in her vision.

She says her daughter's name.

Whispers it, pleads for her.

And then, for the second time in her life (perhaps the third if you consider the Dark Curse to be like a sleeping one) Snow surrenders to the darkness.

* * *

Emma feels like she's being ripped apart. Everything is on fire inside of her, and when she can manage a thought, it's tormented and fractured.

Likewise, her memories of the last few hours of her life are scattered and broken, and even trying to think outside of the hateful little box that her captor has built for her makes her want to scream in pain and frustration.

Mere house earlier, she'd been with Hook and Regina on the beach, and then there had been nothing besides a sharp vibrating pain in her skull. When she'd come to, she'd been tied down and there had been masked teenagers standing over her. Chanting and laughing and waving sharp objects around.

And then she'd seen him. Or whatever remained of the boy that he'd once been. Dark, cruel and little more than a shadow of his former self. Literally.

Peter Pan. And no, he hadn't been wearing green tights and a little cap.

He'd giggled as he'd welcomed her to Neverland, and then he'd told her that she'd get the honor of dying so that the boy – presumably Henry who she'd spotted across the camp with Tamara and Greg – could be claimed.

Claimed, he'd said. Brought home to be with his new and rightful family.

Her quite bloody death would allow that, he'd assured her with the cruelest and darkest of smiles. Her magnificent slaying would set Henry free, and allow him to claim his destiny. She'd told Peter the Shadow to go fuck himself up a creek because her belief and care for destiny had been pretty goddamned low, and well, as much as a shadow could, he'd laughed again.

And then he'd informed her in that same high pitched tone that he'd been glad – so very glad - that she'd chosen to go out this way, because if she'd just dropped down and let death just happen to her, well then there might not have been the anger and hurt. There might not have been the betrayal.

It'd taken her a moment to understand that the Shadow had meant Henry; he'd been telling Emma that Henry watching his biological mother die violently and horribly would create the boy that the former Peter Pan needed, and seeing her just stay down and let it happen would upset that.

She'd steeled her nerves, and then her defiance and her rage, and told the Shadow to give her his best and worst, and then she'd closed her eyes and prayed that the fragile bonds created with the others – with her parents and with Regina and even with Hook and Rumple – would mean something.

She'd prayed that they'd come for her.

Or for Henry at the very least.

Those had been her last somewhat coherent thoughts before he'd invaded her mind with a vicious kind of ease. He'd clawed and pushed past her childish defenses like they'd been about as strong as wet paper.

And then he'd turned the nightmares on with a laugh and a grin.

Now, all she sees are the torn and hideous shadows around her. They're figments and fragments of her past, and they're everywhere.

Turn to the left and there's the foster father who'd considered all of his charges to be little more than glorified punching bags. He's big and brutish, and when he smiles, his cold dark eyes seem to glitter. His hands are massive, and when he lifts them, she feels the pain of contact on her cheek.

Turn to the right and there's the arrogant asshole that she'd lost her virginity to when she'd been just a few days over fifteen years of age – the one who'd laughed and told her that she'd just been an easy lay.

In front of her, she sees memories of a horribly year spent in prison, her fingers settled across a growing belly, the angry thoughts of a lover who had betrayed her fresh in her troubled mind, each one corrupting her heart and soul with every day that had brought her closer to Henry's birth.

Behind her, she sees the men and women that she'd hunted; the simple cowards and the brutal monsters who had promised to find her and make her pay for humiliating them and ruining their lives.

She sees the man who had poured acid on three of his lovers; the one she'd dragged back into the country. He's the only mark she'd ever gone to the courthouse to watch get convicted and sentenced. She sees his ice blue eyes. Cold, dark and hateful. She hears him assure her that he will find her.

And that when he does, no one else will ever find her.

Never again.

She feels tears and sweat and blood, and dear God she wants to cry and scream and plead. And beg for whatever mercy might exist. When she does start screaming because she thinks she can feel a hundred hands touching her, the sound rips from her throat with excruciatingly violent force.

There's an uncomfortable kind electricity pushing its way through her body, and instinctively she knows that it's her magic forcing itself to the surface, but she has no idea what to do with this knowledge or this power.

How can her magic help her now when she has no idea how to utilize it?

And why does it feel like it's as frightened as she is?

The shadows continue to come towards her, morphing into the monsters that every child fears exist beneath their bed and in their closets. Only now, Emma actually believes that these creatures exist. If an Evil Queen and Snow White can, then why can't something with razor sharp teeth and claws?

They stalk towards her, looming. And they taunt her and giggle.

They promise to laugh as they tear her apart.

She feels her sanity crumbling.

She feels the magic burning hotter and hotter.

And then there's a touch. Light and gentle and cool against her wrist.

"Emma," she hears.

It sounds so familiar. It sounds like –

"Mom?"

The word comes out in desperation, and she reaches for something, anyone. She feels the palm over hers, coolness seeping into her feverish skin.

Her hands come free a few moments later, and she exhales.

She feels the touch again, and leans towards it.

Which of course is when the uncontrolled magic that lurks within her panics and decides that she needs to be protected from whomever or whatever is around her. It bubbles upwards like hot lava and when it explodes from her fingers and her hands, it's hot and sticky and damn near dizzying.

She feels free.

She feels trapped.

She feels alive.

She feels like she's dying.

She screams and wants to vomit.

"Emma," she hears, the voice cool and controlled. "You need to stop this."

Her eyes snap upwards, and she looks forward. Blinking. Squinting. She tries to see through the shadows and the smoke, tries to focus on the imposing – and familiar – figure that she sees standing there.

Finally, she does, and in spite of her fear, she lets out a breath of relief.

"You," she whispers.

"Me," comes the bemused response.

"How?" Emma demands. She looks around – perhaps for the first time – and realizes that she's nowhere at all. Everything around her is dark and black and so very cold and frightening. "Where are we?"

"We're in your head, dear," Regina says softly, stepping forward and into the curious light that just seems to be there, dim and unfocused. "And as I said, you need to stop before you kill everyone. Before you kill yourself."

"I…I don't know how," Emma stammers, suddenly feeling so very small and afraid. She feels a whole lot like the child in a new home; the one that doesn't yet know the rules, but somehow understands that they'll still be held accountable for whichever ones they accidentally break.

She feels the magic surge again, reacting to her frightened thoughts. It swirls around her and through her, choking her even as it tries to save her.

But then, with a wave of a hand from Regina, her magic (which Emma – even in her current fragile mental state – is beginning to think of as a kind of Dark Passenger of sorts) recedes. It stumbles, whines and whimpers before it reluctantly and angrily crawls it's way back inside of her and hides away. It's young and inexperienced, and even it wouldn't dare to take on a Queen.

"I know, and that's why I'm here, Sheriff," Regina assures her as she holds out a steady hand to Emma. "To teach you how."

* * *

She'd been so very close to Henry when Emma's screaming had abruptly ceased. Her finally honed senses had warned her that while the absence of the blonde's pained utterances was a good thing, the suddenness was not.

Still, despite the unsettling concern for the blonde that had coursed through her, Regina's dark eyes had remained on her son, and on the clearly frightened woman that she has decided that she can manipulate into handing Henry over to her without any further loss of life or limb.

Not that she would normally care about such, but she figures that Henry has already been through enough over the last few weeks and months, and hardly needs to see any further blood spilled on this day. So for him, she'll try to do this as non-violently as she can manage. That's the plan, anyway.

And then she feels the intense heat of Emma exploding.

For a fraction of a second, everything literally freezes. The entire camp just pauses, stuck in time as Emma's magic spreads out, covering everything in a wave of purple energy that seems far too intense to exist within one body.

And it is.

Which is why it is now on the outside of Emma instead of the inside.

"Mom!" Henry screams, and she has absolutely no idea if he's calling out for her or Emma; for once, it hardly matters. Her head snaps around, towards where the blonde had been strapped to a table, and her eyes widen as she takes in the fires and the flames and the chaotic destruction behind her.

There are bodies thrown around every which way, some broken and ripped open, and some merely unconscious and badly wounded. Across the camp, slumped over on her side in a disgraceful heap is Snow White. She sees David – bleeding from a wound on his temple – rush towards his wife, calling out her name, his blue eyes wide and terrified as he looks over at –

Emma.

Regina snaps her attention to the blonde who is no longer strapped down, but now is standing in front of the table. Purple smoke covers her, but it's darker and more fluid than that. Her magic is literally pouring off of her, and it's violent and cruel, and she's not in any degree of control.

In fact, from the vacant look in her eyes, it seems like Emma's not even aware of what she's done. While she's certainly not a master of magic like Rumple is, Regina understands enough to know that the loss of control can only lead to death, destruction and heartbreak beyond comprehension.

She realizes that for reasons she can't even begin to understand, she doesn't want those things for Emma.

"Mom," she hears Henry scream again, the pitch of his voice high and panicked. "Mom, you have to stop her. You have to help her!"

Well, that answers that question.

Regina turns back to face Henry, and that's when she realizes that the destruction Emma's magic had caused hadn't just occurred behind her, but also in front of her. Tamara is lying on the ground, her head cocked at an uncomfortably severe angle; she's not getting up again, Regina knows.

Owen doesn't, though, and he's over her begging her to open her eyes.

"Please," Henry begs, taking three steps towards her, his hands out.

She nods her head, more to herself than to her son. "Emma," she says as she turns back to face Henry's birth mother, knowing full well that the delirious and possibly delusional blonde sheriff can't hear her.

Not like this, anyway.

She thinks about Rumple, and lessons learned the hard and painful way. She thinks about a dark and dank little room in the basement of his castle, and how the first time he'd shown her how to enter another person's thoughts, he'd torn into her mind with sadistic glee. To this day, she still remembers the cruel way that he'd laughed when she'd tried to do the same.

Tried and failed.

And then she remembers having entered his mind just hours ago, and how it'd been painful and exhausting, but fruitful.

She'd succeeded then in passing along a SOS; an urgent plea for help.

She needs to succeed again.

The magic within her is so weak and tired, and she thinks that if she uses it to enter a mind for the second time today, she might struggle to come out of the experience alive. She doesn't have the energy for this, she knows.

But Henry is pleading with, and she remembers a promise that she'd made to herself while she'd been back in the cave with Hook: Emma Swan will live.

She remembers another promise, this one made to Henry back in Storybrooke: she won't let him be alone.

She thinks of the frightened woman who is standing in the middle of the camp, being torn apart body and soul by something she'd never asked for and never wanted. She remembers another girl; another child who'd so desperately wanted a better life, a more hopeful and happy one.

She thinks that even though there may no longer be any chances left for that girl, there might still be one or two available for Emma Swan.

Regina glances back at Henry, who is standing several feet in front of Owen and Tamara now (enough way, she thinks, that he can quickly run and get to his grandparents), and she offers him a sad smile, and another nod. She turns her head back towards Snow and David, and finds herself breathing in exhaling in relief (for Henry, she tells herself) when she sees Snow stirring; sitting up gingerly with a hand rested against the back of her skull.

She takes a deep shuddering breath, then, and closes her eyes. She feels the pain – like a thousand blisteringly hot needles piercing her skin all at once – as she pulls forth the remaining magic within her weary body.

As she concentrates on Emma.

She reaches out, and then allows the strength to bleed out of her physical being; she allows her mind to become all that there is.

And then she sees her; she sees Emma.

The blonde sheriff is standing in the middle of the darkest room possible, a hundred shadows lurking over her. Each is mean and ugly, and some of them even wear the faces of men and women – presumably from Emma's past. Some are laughing and taunting and others just stare at Emma as she grits her teeth and fights so desperately for balance and control. Magic continues to roll off of her in waves, even within her own mind. She's powerful here, but also chaotic and unfocused; a frightened child.

"Emma," Regina says. "You need to stop this."

The sheriff snaps around, eyes wide. "You," she says, and Regina thinks she hears something like relief in Emma's voice.

"Me," she chuckles in response.

"How?" Emma asks, looking more scared than Regina has ever seen her.

"We're in your head, dear," Regina replies. "And as I said, you need to stop before you kill everyone. Before you kill yourself." She takes a cautious step forward, through the smoke and the shadows, towards the woman who she has somehow grown to have respect for in spite of their many differences.

"I…I don't know how," Emma answers, and for a moment Regina wonders if the girl is about to cry. But she won't, Regina knows, because even if Emma doesn't yet realize or understand it, she has strength within her heart and soul far beyond what most people could ever hope to possess.

Far beyond what Regina believes that she herself has. She's envious of this, of course, but at this moment, she's also glad of it because she believes that it is that strength which will see all of them through this nightmare.

"I know, and that's why I'm here, Sheriff," Regina answers. She holds out her hand, palm up. "To teach you how."

"How?"

Regina smiles. "For once, you listen."

"I am listening," Emma growls out, her eyes darting around. "But in case you didn't notice, they're listening, too."

"They?"

"They." She gestures around at the shadows and monsters. As she speaks, a man emerges from the shadows; older and doughy, but with dark cold eyes.

"Those shadows are just your past," Regina says gently. "And they can only hurt you if you allow them, too. Trust me; I more than anyone know that."

"They're real," the blonde sheriff insists, her eyes on the man. After a moment of glaring at him with fear and hatred in her expression, he finally disappears, stepping back into the shadows of her mind. "He's here, too."

"The man you just made go away?"

"No; he's dead," Emma states coolly. "Heart attack five years ago."

"Ah. Then, I presume you mean Pan?"

"Yes."

Regina laughs, the sound deep and cold. "Oh, let him come, then. He might think of himself as a big power in this pathetic little world, but he's never crossed me, dear; I don't think he'll very much enjoy it when he does."

Emma blinks – she actually blinks – at her. "Are you fucking serious?"

"What was it that Sydney once told you? Oh yes; I don't joke."

"Yeah, well, Sydney's in an insane asylum because you had him take the fall for a murder you tried to commit, and now you're in my head so I'm really not all that sure who or what I'm supposed to believe right now."

"Believe your instincts," Regina says softly. "They're the one part of you that has never let you down when you actually followed them."

Their eyes meet across the smoke, and they understand each other in a way that is uniquely them. Emma's shoulders sag, and she nods slowly.

"He's here," she says again, after a few moments.

"And you're scared."

The blonde motions to herself. "I feel like I'm burning up inside."

"That's not Pan; that's your magic. He's merely assisting you in losing control of it," Regina informs her. "That feeling from a few minutes ago? That was you letting everything inside of you out. It felt good, didn't it?"

"No; it felt awful," Emma counters. Suddenly, a look of horror crosses her face. "I hurt someone, didn't I? What just happened, what I just did, I –"

"You did," Regina confirms. "Which is why it is that much more important that we get you back under control. The magic within you is so very strong, Emma; perhaps even stronger than what exists within me."

"Because of True Love?" Emma spits out, her eyes again darting around.

"No," Regina replies with just a hint of sadness. "Because _you_ are strong."

"I don't feel so strong right now."

"We never are within our own minds, but that doesn't mean that we can't find a way to be strong when we need to be. You helped me to be strong enough down in the cave. Now, you need to be strong enough for you."

"How?" Emma asks once more.

And once more, Regina replies with, "You listen. And you take my hand, and trust me to guide you out of this. If for no other reason than –"

"Henry," Emma finishes. She shakes her head. "No, I trust _you_."

It's entirely the wrong time to ask why Emma why she would do such a silly thing, and so for now, Regina simply nods her head. "Good. My hand."

Emma reaches for it, tangling her fingers with Regina's. The former queen is reminded of how they'd done this exact same thing just a few hours earlier, on the boat on the way to the island. Then, it had been Emma initiating the contact, and offering support. Now, their positions have been flipped.

It's the story of their relationship, apparently.

"What about him?" Emma asks. "He's…he's still here, right?"

"Oh, yes; he's still here," Regina replies. "And he's trying to speak to me."

"He is?"

"Indeed." Regina's eyes dart around. She's not lying; she can feel the Shadow – darker than even Rumple, though significantly less powerful from a magical point of view, thank the gods – lurking around in the air. She feels his talons swipe against her skin every now and again, but her focus on Emma is absolute, and his attacks are more exploratory than real. She can feel him scratching at her mind, but he's wary of her, and that's good.

He believes her to be a threat to him. He doesn't know how weak and underpowered she is. He can taste the magic within her, but she's siphoning enough from Emma to confuse him, and her confidence concerns him.

It's an opening, she thinks. Just a small one, but enough to get them both out of this hallucinatory dream state, and back into the real world.

There, she knows she can destroy this Pan creature.

Here, well the longer they exist within this place, the more likely he is to realize that she's playing five-card draw with twos and fours.

"What do we do?" Emma queries, the panic rising within her again. Regina attributes the blonde's unsteadiness to her injuries and the hallucinations that she's been subjected to; normally, she's far too defiant and stubborn to allow anything to frighten her into any corner. Even scared, she's typically a pain in the ass that doesn't know how to stop until she's forced to do so.

Regina knows that if they're to save Henry, and everyone else that had accompanied them to Neverland, they're going to need _that_ Emma.

"You focus on our son," Regina says calmly. "And you think about the people you love and want to protect. Magic is emotion, dear."

"Gold told me that," Emma informs her with a frown. She cocks her head and looks at Regina like she knows something that perhaps she shouldn't know. "I'm not sure I want to follow his guidance when it comes to magic."

"You're right to be concerned, dear, but in this matter, at least, he is right. Your fear just caused you to lose control of your magic, but the need to protect those you love can help you regain it. Narrow your focus down, Emma; close your eyes and see only those you would guard. Nothing else matters. Not your past and not your future; just your family. Focus."

"Focus," Emma repeats.

"Focus," Regina concurs. She can feel Pan scratching at her again. Her defenses, already so very weak thanks to her fatigue and Rumple's recent invasion of her mind, are crumbling quickly now. He's pushing and pawing, and she's reminded in a horrible way of the first time Rumple had forcibly pulled a thought from her mind, and whirled it around in the air.

"_You want the girl to die, do you, dearie? How very interesting."_

She pushes back at Pan with all of her remaining strength. She just needs a little more time – just enough for Emma to break out of this.

She hopes that the connection – both physical and mental – that currently exists between the two of them will carry her along for the ride, because she's no longer sure that she can make it out of this on her own.

"Emma," she whispers, squeezing the sheriff's hand. "Your family."

"Protect," the blonde murmurs, and squeezes back.

Then, the world becomes a sheet of bright gold light.

Until it becomes reality again.

* * *

It's David's concerned voice that brings Snow out of the darkness. He's saying her name over and over again, and he sounds so damned terrified. Her green eyes snap open, and though the pain in the back of her skull is immediate and sharp, she blinks her way through it and looks up at him.

"Hey, there you are" he whispers, his palm against her cheek.

She looks up at him, confused and uncertain. Like there's something she's supposed to know and remember, but can't quite get to it.

And then she does.

"Emma!" she shouts, sitting up quickly even as the sharp pain tears through her head. Her eyes snap around the camp, and she sees all the bodies strewn around. There are still a few of the Lost Ones fighting with Hook and Rumple, but their numbers are greatly reduced, and it seems clear that absent intervention from their leader, the traveling party from Storybrooke will likely win this little battle. She lifts her hand up, and winces when she sees the burn marks that cover her arms. Distantly, she recalls having been thrown through the fire pit; apparently it'd caught some of her.

"There," David says, his hand slipping into hers. With his other one, he points towards where Regina and Emma are. It's the strangest scene, really; the two of them are just standing in the middle of the camp, mere inches apart from each other, both staring at each other, but seeing nothing.

"What are they doing?"

"I believe Regina followed Pan into her head," Rumple states as he comes over, Hook a few feet away, still pushing back the two remaining boys that haven't realized that it would be much smarter for them to turn and run.

"Why?" David demands, unable to hide his worry.

Instinctively, Snow squeezes his hand again. She knows that she should be as concerned as her husband is, but for some reason, she's not. For some reason or another, she knows that what's happening now between Regina and Emma is exactly what should be happening. She'd asked Regina to teach Emma back on the ship, and while she hadn't had this in mind exactly, it occurs to her that such a lesson could never happen without danger.

"She's trying to pull your daughter out of her mind before she destroys herself – and all of us - completely," Rumple replies as he waves a hand over Snow's arm to make the blisters disappear. Another passes her skull, and then that pain, too, is mercifully gone. She nods a quick thank you to him.

"Will it work?" she asks him as she allows David to pull her to her feet.

"Hard to say," Rumple shrugs, flicking his hand up to shove a boy that had been coming up behind Hook back. The two men exchange a look that's mostly wary, but oddly respectful as well. They despise each other, Snow knows, and neither would mind the other dead, but this is war, and sometimes in war, you protect the allies you have even if you hate them.

"What does that mean?" David demands.

"Regina's half-dead," Rumple informs them with an unapologetic bluntness that makes Snow cringe involuntarily. "In case you hadn't noticed, the Queen is operating completely on fumes, and has been since she and Miss Swan turned off the diamond back in Storybrooke. She has very little magic left in her, and from what I can tell, little life force or will to live as well."

"But enough to reach out to you, mate," Hook reminds him as he comes over. His eyes sweep the camp, and he frowns deeply, his face showing the discomfort and seeing so many dead and wounded children. He might be a selfish man, and one who committed many an atrocity, but what's happened here today is something that none of them had ever wanted.

"And just enough to do the same to Miss Swan," comes the silky confirmation from the centuries old imp. "But even as stubborn as Regina is, even she has her limits, and I believe that she's finally reached them."

"Can she help Emma?" Snow presses, unwilling to consider what it means for Regina to have reached her limits. The one thing she has always counted on is for Regina to be stubborn and persistent almost beyond reason. When almost anyone else would have just surrendered and given up, Regina has always found a way to fight on. For better or for worse.

"Do you see any more magic shows happening?" Rumple counters.

"No," Snow admits, looking around, and sighing as she confirms his words

"Then, I believe you have your answer. Besides, for the moment we have bigger concerns at hand."

"Such as?" David challenges, eyes narrowing.

"The reason we're here, which in case I'm quite mistaken – and I very rarely am – has gone missing once again."

"Henry," Snow says immediately, and then looks towards where her grandson had been just minutes earlier. She sees Tamara's body there, crumpled and broken, her neck twisted, her eyes glassy and staring.

Emma's magic had done that, she realizes, her stomach lurching.

This thought leaves her mind a moment later, however, when confirms Gold's words with her own eyes: Henry is, indeed, missing.

"The Mendell boy must have taken him," Hook suggests, pointing to a row of shrubbery that appears to have been parted by a man of Greg's size.

"We have to go after them," Snow snaps back without hesitation.

She starts to step forward, not really caring if the men are with her or not, but she pulls up short when she sees her daughter – previously standing so very still just a few inches away from Regina – suddenly sag and fall to the ground. Emma's blue-green eyes are thankfully open and aware, and she's blinking against the moonlight, trying to collect her bearings.

A second later, Regina crumbles beside her, her head lolling, and for a moment, Snow is struck by the horrible thought that maybe her former stepmother is dead; maybe Gold was right, and this was too much and –

Regina groans, her teeth grit, tears sprinkling down her cheeks.

No, not dead yet, Snow realizes, but yes, perhaps dying.

"Emma," Snow calls out, her voice shaking horribly as she looks at the two women on the ground. "Mendell has Henry." She knows that she should check on her daughter who just minutes earlier was screaming her lungs out, and who is probably in a great deal of pain and discomfort herself, but something inside of her tells her that there just isn't the time for such.

She can worry about Emma later. She will worry about Emma later.

They're here for Henry.

"Help me up," Emma says, eyes blowing wide when she hears Snow's words. She throws out an arm for assistance, but before Snow can even get to her, there's an explosion of sand around here, and they're tossed apart.

Then they hear the laughter.

"He's here," Hook warns, scowling darkly, his fingers tightening on his blade. He looks around, eyes narrowing as he waits for the next attack from a foe that he's battled more times than he probably prefers to admit to.

"We don't have time for this; we need to get to Henry before Owen hurts him," Regina whispers, her voice so low and pained. Her eyes are streaked red now, and she's practically shaking.

And still she stands up.

Or at least she attempts to.

Her knees tremble and wobble, and for a moment, Regina looks like she's about to collapse back to the cool gritty sand beneath her. That is until Emma's arm streaks out, and in spite of her own injuries and issues, she somehow manages to hold Regina up. Snow sees a look pass between the two women – some kind of understanding (that she's vaguely jealous of this is something Snow keeps to herself) – and then they're back to business; both focused on the child that means the world to both of them.

"Go," Hook says, looking first at Regina and then at Emma. "Save your boy; I've got my old friend here."

Snow looks over at Rumple, and amazingly, he simply nods his head in understanding of her silent request to assist Hook with the Shadow.

She wonders if he, too, has a death wish.

"Go," Hook yells once more, and then he laughs and faces the cloying shadow that is suddenly descending on him, taking the form of a boy.

David close at her side, she doesn't hesitate to follow after Emma and Regina who are already in motion; the two of them moving like neither one of them is in any way hurt or even a little bit fatigued (what a terrible understatement the former schoolteacher thinks grimly).

They're in perfect sync, side by side with each other as they race through the tall weeds that lead down the beach and towards the waters' edge.

This is pure adrenaline, Snow knows.

This is how a parent protects their child.

She looks over at David, who is right next her, and she grimaces because really, there isn't anything she wouldn't do to keep someone from hurting Emma again. She'd even trust her oldest enemy to train her daughter.

Anything.

Everything.

She has no doubt that Regina and Emma will do even more than that.

They're halfway down the sand, the blue water crashing the shore visible against the bright moonlight, when they hear the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

Emma has no idea where this energy is coming from.

Minutes earlier, she'd felt like her body had been made of solid metal, stiff and unmoving. Now, she's running besides Regina, breathing hard and sweating like crazy, but unstoppable as she races next to the former mayor, who seems to be completely ignorant of the fact that she's on empty.

She sees them up ahead – Greg and Henry. Mendell, who has Henry held tight against his chest, a gun pressed to Henry's temple, looks unfocused, and frightened, and immediately Emma finds herself pushing through her memories and searching for comparable marks that she'd hunted down.

Greg's different than all of these men and women, of course; none of them had tried to take her son from her. Still, he pings like the ones who'd been pushed into a corner and done desperate things to try to escape it.

He's on the edge of his sanity, and that's a desperately dire place to be.

"Do you have anything left?" Emma huffs out as they approach Greg. He's backed himself up to the water, the waves lapping at the cuffs of his pants.

"Magic?"

"Yeah."

"No," Regina admits. "I used the last of it to pull you out. Any magic we have is going to have to come from you."

"I don't know how."

"Then just be Emma," Regina responds as they come to a stop a few feet from Greg and Henry. Behind them, Emma can hear Snow and David approaching, but she pays them little mind; this is about she and Regina here. This is their son, and it's on them to bring him home safe.

"Stay back," Greg growls out. "Or I will kill him." And then just to prove his point, he fires his gun up into the air, the sound echoing in the night.

"Mom!" Henry screams out, shaking and pushing against Greg. The older man holds Henry tighter, his fingers digging into Henry's forearm.

Emma shakes her head. "You don't want to do this; he's just a kid."

"He's her kid."

"And he's mine, and I've never done anything to you."

"You killed her!"

"Her?"

"Tamara," Regina murmurs. Emma closes her eyes, remembering the twisted and broken body that she'd passed by. Neal's duplicitous fiancée', and the woman who'd murdered August. She inhales sharply.

"You don't say her name," Owen growls out at Regina.

Regina holds up her hands. "All right; I won't, but making Henry pay for my sins – and for Emma's sins – that's not fair or right."

"You made me pay for yours."

"I did," she confirms.

"Then why shouldn't your son pay for them, too?"

Regina swallows sharply. "Because he's her son, not mine."

Emma actually feels the almost painful way her head snaps around as she glares at Regina. She imagines that she's supposed to play along here, but the churning in her stomach makes it hard to do so. In a million years, she never could have imagined Regina ever saying these words.

Unless this is a Hail Mary pass towards the end zone.

So to speak, anyway.

And really, the only reason for such a play is if there is all there is left.

"Mom, no," Henry gasps out, because he's a kid, and kids don't understand desperate gambits and trying to talk a lunatic off a ledge. They just understand that the person they love is rejecting them.

Only, Regina can't actually manage to do that. Her eyes widen, and tears leak out and down her ashy cheeks. Emma sees the way her knees wobble.

"I'm sorry," she says to Henry, and then she looks up at Greg. "I'm sorry."

"Not good enough."

"I know, but it's all I have." She steps forward, then, narrowly avoiding Emma's hand, which sweeps out to try to pull her back. "Except me."

"You?"

"You tried to kill me back in Storybrooke, and they stopped you. This – all of this – is about what I took from you. Taking Henry from me – from Emma – won't bring back your father, and it won't make up for what I did."

"No, it won't," Greg says, "But it'll be something." He presses the gun back into Henry's temple. Emma sees the way Greg's eyes widen as he takes in the arrival of Snow and David. He's panicking more and more now, which means the chance of Regina talking him down with an apology is slim.

But then, that's not actually what she's trying to do here, anyway.

This isn't about talking at all, Emma realizes as Regina steps forward. This is about sacrifice, resignation and letting go, and good God it's utterly wrong wrong wrong for this woman to be doing this, Emma thinks.

"No," Regina says, her voice low and shaky. "Don't make him pay for what I did to you. Make me pay." She holds out her hands, palms up.

"Regina," Emma growls out, knowing she'll be ignored.

"What the hell is she doing?" David asks.

"Surrendering," she hears Snow respond, her voice sad and heavy.

And that's exactly what she's doing. Surrendering.

"You'd give me yourself?" Greg asks, his disbelief clear.

"Yes."

"In exchange for her son."

"In exchange for _my_ son," Regina responds, and Emma knows that this isn't a slight against her, but rather Regina trying to impress upon Greg how much this exchange means to her. How much it should mean to him.

"He was hers a moment ago," Greg challenges, eyes narrowed like he's desperately searching for both the lie and the trick.

"Owen," Regina says, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter whom he belongs to; it just matters that I love him enough to give you whatever you want to end this. Take me, take my life and end this."

"Regina," Emma says once more. "Stop."

"It's okay," comes the soft response, her eyes still on Greg.

"No, it's not. Don't do this."

"I don't have a choice, Emma."

"There's always a choice."

"Not today. Owen, please."

His head cocks to the side. "What would you do for him?"

"Anything."

"Would you kneel before me?" he asks, his lips curling into a cruel sneer.

A look passes over Regina's face. It's startled, surprised and then suddenly calm and aware. It's unsettling to Emma how very quickly Regina works her way through the emotions that surge through. Especially considering the fact that Emma finds herself struggling with choking back her disgust.

Several months ago she'd wanted little more than to metaphorically bring Regina to her knees for the evils the queen had committed against her and her family, but now? Now Emma finds even the visual within her own mind of this to be horrific beyond words. It's wrong simply because now she understands just how often Regina has been humbled in her life.

Even if she's fought like hell not to let anyone see it.

"Is that what you want? Me on my knees in front of you?" Regina asks, smiling softly. "Will that even the ledger enough for you to let my son go?"

Emma tries once more, this time whispering the former queen's name.

It goes as unheard as her other attempts.

"Yes," Greg says, lifting the gun away from Henry's temple.

Regina nods her head, her expression shifting rapidly until it settles on something that looks sad and defeated, but also vaguely wistful.

"Then you shall have it," Regina states, her eyes meeting his.

Behind them, Emma hears Snow gasp in horror.

She's not surprised; Regina is a lot of things, but the best and the worst of those things is prideful and strong. She's held her head up through every moment of her life both good and bad, and now to surrender her pride – her last bit of armor – in order to save her son; well it means something.

"You realize I'm going to kill you, right?" Greg tells the former queen, chuckling nervously. "I'm going to put a fucking bullet into your brain."

Henry shakes against him, struggles, and tries to throw an elbow.

"I realize that all too well," Regina confirms. "Do we have a deal?"

"We do."

Emma inhales sharply. She has a lifetime of feeling helpless behind her, but never like this; there's elemental magic inside of her, but she has no idea how to call it forth to stop this situation from playing out as it is.

She has no idea how she's supposed to save Regina's life this time.

Or worse, if Regina even wants her to do so.

Regina turns to face her, then, smiling sadly. "The moment he's in your arms, you get the hell out of here, and take him home. Understood?"

"There has to be another way."

There's that damned look again. Emma remembers it from the cave – the expression that seems to say that there's no hope left for her. Regina's red lips quirk up into the worst of grimaces when she says, "There isn't, and besides, maybe it's time for me to finally account."

"Not like this."

"Mom, you don't have to do this."

Regina's mouth opens as if to reply, but then she snaps it shut and simply shakes her head. Her eyes go to Snow, and a strange smile is shared between the two women. It's uncomfortable, and awkward, and for a moment Emma thinks that they're both about to break into tears.

But then Regina is turning back to her. "Promise me you won't let him see."

Emma doesn't need Regina to spell out what it is that Regina's talking about, and though her mind still refuses to accept the idea that she will allow this to happen, she nods her head almost instinctually.

"Good. Owen, let him go."

"How do I know you won't -"

She cuts him off. "Let him go, and then you can have your vengeance."

He glances down at Henry once more, and then roughly shoves the boy towards Emma. The blonde sheriff feels the warmth of her son in her arms for half a second before Henry is surging forward trying to get to Regina.

She almost catches his shirt – almost – and then he's past her and into Regina's arms, clutching her so tightly, and crying into her shoulder.

"No," he pleads. "Don't do this. Don't leave me."

"I don't want to, but - I have to," Regina whispers, her mouth against his ear as she speaks. "I want to make you proud of me. I need to." She runs her fingers through his hair, like she can't get enough of touching him.

"I am," he says, and Emma wonders if she'll ever be able to put Henry back together after way he holds onto Regina, like he's afraid - rightly so, unfortunately - that if he lets her go, he'll never get to touch her again is enough to make Emma want to scream.

Desperately, she wiggles her fingers, and begs for magic to come forth, but it resists her call, hiding away deep inside her. She can feel her parents shifting behind her, both of them no doubt thinking the same thing she is: how to stop this from happening.

Both of them probably coming up as empty as she is, too.

"I love you; no matter what, don't you ever forget that," Regina whispers to Henry before she reluctantly peels him off of her, and gently presses him back into Emma's arms, her hand lingering on his back a moment longer than is probably necessary.

Not that Henry minds considering the way he fights against Emma to get back to Regina. She holds on tight, holding him securely against her torso. She can hear – feel – him saying "no" over and over against her chest.

A mantra of the worst kind of pain.

"Don't let him see this," Regina tells her again, before turning back to Owen. She takes a breath, deep and shaky, and then steps forward.

As if accepting her sentence of death.

Emma watches in horror as slowly, Regina falls to her knees in the sand, finally coming to a stop once she's fully down in front of Owen, her head bowed, her neck exposed as if waiting for an executioner's axe to strike it.

She's submissive.

Kneeling.

Broken.

"I'm yours," she says, so quiet as to almost be inaudible.

And then she waits for death.

**TBC...**


	4. 4

Author's Note: As always, thank you for all of the very kind words. This chapter is from the POVs of David, Hook and Rumple.

Please remember that this is an ensemble piece meant to expand and speak to the complicated relationships shared by the six involved.

Warnings: salty language, violence, some potentially suicidal thoughts and maaaagic. Oh and Rumple and Regina's wacky/twisted history on display.

* * *

When the former queen's leather clad knees hit the sand with a heavy wet thud that seems to somehow echo like a gunshot through the salty air, David Nolan becomes aware of exactly two things at exactly the same time: his grandson is screaming for his adoptive mother, and his wife is doing the same.

He thinks of the conversation that he'd had with Gold back on the boat, and he realizes that finally, after all this time, this is really the chance that he's been waiting for. For so very long now, he's wanted Regina to be out of the picture, and far away from the people that he cares the most about.

It's not necessarily that he's wanted her dead; he likes to think that's he not a cruel or malicious man, but for all the things that she's done to his family and all the things that she could do again, he's wanted her gone.

Not dead. Just…gone.

But that's not what Snow wants.

Or Henry.

Or Emma.

The first two don't really shock him; Henry was raised by Regina and in spite of whatever mistakes she might have made along the way (and really, even David understands that he is the very last person to talk about parenting issues), she loves her son desperately. That she – a former queen – is down on her knees now in front of Greg, her head bowed in a show of humbled surrender as she waits for him to kill her, well that's proof of such for sure.

As for Snow, David knows that she will always crave a chance of redemption and reunion with her former stepmother. She will always want forgiveness.

But Emma? Well if anyone has reason to wish Regina dead, it's his not-as- close-to-him-as-she-should-be blonde haired daughter. Not that he and Snow don't carry some of the blame for how Emma had grown up, but none of that would have happened at all without Regina's unrelenting vengeance.

If the former queen could have just let her anger go (deep down, he knows that it's much more complicated than that, but he struggles to allow himself to dwell too much on these thoughts because he's not sure what exists on the other side of them in regards to culpability and blame), maybe so much would have turned out better for everyone. Then again, if Regina hadn't done what she had done, then perhaps Henry wouldn't exist. He ponders the tradeoff and wonders if getting to see his grandson grow up is worth all of the years of not getting to see Emma in her mothers' court.

He's fairly sure that it's not, but he's equally sure that what's done is done.

In any case, Emma doesn't seem to give a damn about any of that. She's never once – that's he heard, anyway - voiced anger towards Regina in regards to how she'd grown up. Their issues appear to be more complicated than that, and when David realizes this, he almost laughs because how could anything possibly be complicated than losing your childhood to a curse?

It hardly matters, though, because for whatever reason, Emma is fighting for Regina's life once again. He can see the way her fingers are moving, as if to draw magic up into them. He wonders absently if this need to save Regina is all because it's just who Emma is to try to help people or if perhaps there's more to it than that. Perhaps, in spite of everything, Emma actually cares for Regina. Perhaps Gold was right about them being connected in some way.

This realization baffles David, but he shoves it into the back of his mind with almost brutal force because Greg is stepping towards Regina's fallen form, his gun extended towards her. Regina's life is down to seconds now, the former prince knows, and there is no time for doubts or second-guessing.

He either helps to save Regina or he stands back and he lets her die.

How much more will she be allowed to hurt his family?

How much will her dying hurt his family?

His eyes sweep down to Regina – so humbled and broken – kneeled down on the cold wet sand. He's never seen her bowed liked this; he's never seen her so truly shattered. The sight curdles his stomach in an unexpected way.

This isn't the Evil Queen that he'd wanted to execute thirty years ago, and this isn't even the furiously angry women that he'd considered imprisoning in Rumplestiltskin's cage or abandoning in Storybrooke just a few days ago; no, this is just a mother who is willing to do anything to save her child.

Again.

Back on the Jolly Roger, Gold had warned him that he might have to make the hard decision in regards to Regina's fate because perhaps Snow wouldn't be able to; she'd be too compromised by her feelings for her former stepmother, the shopkeeper had insinuated. Letting Regina die, well that would be better for everyone, the little imp had straight up told him.

Perhaps not everyone, David realizes with a cold start as he hears his grandson scream for one mother to save the other one. He feels Snow's hand slide into his, and his other reaches for the sword at his side.

"Can you?" he whispers into Emma's ear, his voice soft.

That the words spill from his lips almost without permission is only slightly surprising to him. The simple truth is that there's absolutely nothing that he won't do for his family, and though he's not truly convinced that this is the right choice to make, Snow doesn't need him making decisions for her, and he's pretty damned sure that she'd never forgive him if he did.

Emma jumps at the sound of his voice, and he almost apologizes but time is so terribly short now, and so instead he simply listens for her response.

"Can I what?" she asks, still wriggling her fingers. He can see the frustration in the hard set of her jaw; she's struggling to find the magic. She's new to this, and has no real understanding of what she's doing, but she's trying.

"Can you make…magic?"

His blue eyes track over to Regina again – not that they've ever really left her – and he sees Greg force Regina to look at him by pushing the barrel of his gun against her forehead hard enough to leave an angry red mark there.

"It took me so long to find you," Greg tells the former queen, a cold smile on his lips. "And I thought making you scream and hurt like I did was what I wanted." He shakes his head. "But it wasn't. I just want you dead."

"Then kill me, and be done with this," she breathes. The resignation is thick in her voice and it makes David frown; even when she'd been tied to the post about to take a dozen arrows to the heart, she hadn't been like this.

Even then, she'd refused to surrender.

But then, of course, thirty years ago, eleven-year-old Henry's life hadn't been on the line. He changes everything. Including her, apparently.

"No!" Henry yells suddenly. "Don't do this! She's my mom; I need her."

"No, you don't. You have another one," Greg snaps back. "I didn't. Mine died, and then she took my father from me. She left me all alone."

"Yes," Emma murmurs, blinking rapidly, looking halfway to drugged.

For the briefest of moments, David considers grabbing her and pulling her back and away from all of this madness. Away from the magic that will surely consume her if they don't check it aggressively. Emma's already been through so much in the last few hours, day, weeks and months. Just minutes earlier, she'd been under siege mentally by a monster that even Gold is wary of, and now she's breathing hard all the while trying to make something happen that he still feels – deep in his bones – is unnatural.

Part of him wants to end this and walk away. Let Greg have his vengeance, he thinks. It would be poetic justice for all of her sins, right?

But then Henry is breaking from Emma's arms and Snow is screaming, and David understands that nothing he feels really matters. It's not about his conflicted emotions and it's not about wondering what's might have happened had Regina not been hell-bent on making someone pay for what was done to her. It's not even about what might or might not be justice.

It's quite simply about doing what he knows – deep in his heart - to be right thing because it's what his wife and his daughter and his grandson want.

"Mom!" Henry cries out as he rushes for Regina, stopping just short of his dark haired mother. She lifts her eyes up to meet her son's and David sees the tears there. He sees her shake her head and force a sad smile.

"He's right, Henry," she says, her voice trembling. "I owe him."

"No! You owe me," Henry snaps, and David thinks that he's never seen Henry so angry. He's simply a child, but in this moment, he looks like a disappointed son who wants nothing more than for his mother to fight.

To live.

David knows that he will always wonder if allowing Regina to live thirty years ago was the wrong decision, and he hopes to hell that he won't wonder about this choice as well, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks maybe it's time to stop playing judge and jury with Regina's life.

Maybe it's about time to try the whole living and forgiving thing.

Maybe it's past time.

"You adopted me!" Henry screams. "You promised me that you would always be there to take care of me. You promised me." Tears streak down his face. "So either you lied to me again or..." He trails off, hiccupping.

"I'm sorry," Regina whispers, blinking fiercely. "I'm so sorry."

"Just give me an opening," David tells his daughter. Emma nods almost imperceptibly, and he sees her wiggle her hands once more, a bright sheen of purple finally and quite suddenly circling and surrounding her pale skin.

He feels Snow squeeze his hand once more, and this time it's not for comfort (either to give or to receive), but rather to show her understanding of whatever plan he's come up with. When her palm slides away from his (he immediately feels the loss of contact), he sees it disappear down to her belt, her fingers curling around the hard metal handle of her dagger.

"I don't want your apologies. I want you. You owe me," Henry says again.

"I do," Regina concurs, her eyes jumping wildly between Greg and Henry. That she doesn't even spare a glance over at Emma is definitely curious, but David thinks that maybe Regina is trying to keep an eye on her would be killer. Trying to ensure that Greg keeps the gun on her and only her. "And that means that I have to do whatever I can to protect you. I promised you that I wouldn't let you be alone, and you won't be. You'll be with Emma."

"But I won't have you," Henry retorts as tears continue to leak down his cheeks. Looking at his grandson now, it's easy for David to remember just how much that Henry, too, has been through as of late. "Don't do this, Mom. Please" What he doesn't say aloud is "fight", but everyone hears it.

"She doesn't have a choice anymore," Greg chuckles, sounding half crazed with vengeance and victory. "She already gave herself up in exchange for you, kid. A deal is a deal and she owes me her life. She owes me my life back." The words are so maddeningly young, and for a moment, David recognizes the signs of destroyed innocence in Greg's eyes. He sees anger and betrayal, and so goddamned much pain. He sees the need to hurt less.

But it never does.

David Nolan is neither Regina nor Greg, but even he knows that vengeance is a bridge to nowhere. There is no happy ending at the conclusion of the story for this boy, and despite what he's obviously telling himself, there is no moment of peace to be found, either. There's only more hatred.

More blood and more death won't make any of that better.

And Henry losing the woman who had raised him will just create another young man with a broken soul and rage in his heart.

"Killing her won't make you feel better," Snow insists. "It won't make any of this better. Trust me; I understand this vengeance think better than most people do. If you do this, it'll destroy everything good inside of you."

"You don't know me," Greg tells her, seeming to notice for the first time that he's not alone here with just Henry and Regina. Subtly, David steps in front of Emma so as to block Greg from seeing what she's doing.

"No, I don't, but I do know what it's like to lose a parent to murder," Snow informs him, her voice quiet and calm. Her eyes slide up towards Regina and they hold each other's gazes in that strange intimate way that makes David shift a bit uncomfortably, reminded again about the depth of their history together. "And I know what it's like to take the life of one as well. It doesn't square the ledger. It just destroys you inside. Don't do this."

David glances to his side to spare a look at Emma, to see how she's reacting to all of this, but a quick look at her tells him that she's just barely aware of what's occurring; instead completely focused on calling up the magic.

"Please, listen to my grandma, " Henry begs.

"Why do you care? She's the Evil Queen? She's incapable of love."

David sees the way Regina's jaw tightens in reaction to these words, but she says nothing, her eyes simply sliding towards Henry as if to convince him otherwise. She needn't have bothered; Henry knows the truth.

"She loves me," Henry declares, lifting his chin up in a show of defiance. He then steps towards Regina as if to try to touch her, but before he can get even an inch, Greg lifts his gun away from Regina and points it at Henry (he doesn't seem to notice how David and Snow tense, ready to jump into action should Greg even entertain the idea of grabbing Henry once again).

"No. You… you stay there. She gets no comfort. She doesn't deserve it."

David watches as Regina closes her eyes, her head dropping again. He wonders what she's thinking about. He remembers his own almost execution – one that she had stopped – and the feelings of crushing desperation, loss of hope, and just terrible sadness. He wonders if she's feeling those things now, and finds him surprised to realize that he hopes that she's not; he recalls enough believe that no one should feel that way.

Yes, even he knows that he's hopelessly naïve, and perhaps he needs a reality check on the cruelties of life, but he sees no value in causing others to hurt just because you are. He can't understand why people can't just seek peace where they can. Why does pain always seek company?

"You said that she loves you. All right, fine. Let's pretend that's true. Do you love her back?" Greg asks Henry, tilting his head, his eyes no longer on his prey, but rather focused completely on the child in front of him. He seems confused and uncertain for the briefest of moments.

"She does," Henry answers without hesitation. David sees the boy try to find his mother's eyes, but Regina's head is still bowed. Her shoulders are shaking, though, and there's no doubt that she's reacting to his affirmation of his feelings for her. They're the very simple words that every parent – every person alive – wants to hear. She, perhaps, more than most.

"Do you need her?" Greg challenges.

"She's my mom," Henry replies with a shrug meant to say "of course".

David can feel the sudden uptick in nervous energy – coming from both Greg and Emma. Emma's magic is increasing, and she's close to ready to do whatever she plans to do, but the anxiety is also pouring off of Greg; David sees his angry explosion coming before it does. He slides out of the way of her daughter so that he can give her as open a shot at Greg as possible.

"Well, he was my dad," Greg screams, spittle flying off his lips as his blue eyes widen maniacally. "And I needed him, too, but she took him from me! She took him from me, and she buried him in the ground so you know what, kid? I guess you'll learn to live with loss just the way I did. You'll learn."

He takes a wild and unsteady step towards Henry, and it's not at all clear what he intends to do to the boy, but it hardly matters because suddenly everyone is in motion – including Regina who lunges for him to pull him away – and then Greg is screaming like a man who just got a limb sawed off.

His face goes bright with red, and he bats at Regina to push her off of him (she's got her arms around his legs so as to hold him), swinging his gun towards her face. When it strikes her cheekbone with a terrible wet thwack, he almost seems surprised. And a bit horrified at all of the blood that spurts out as she crumbles to the sand, her eyes rolling back into her head.

Greg's wild intensely frightened eyes say it all to David: this hadn't been his plan. He'd intended to execute Regina, and then be done with it all. What might have come after that hadn't been a consideration, because much as Regina had failed to see anything beyond Snow for so many years, Greg has been breathing Regina since the day he was separated from his father. He doesn't know what to make of an injured woman and a frightened child, and people who would fight for her even when they maybe they shouldn't.  
"Now," David tells Emma. "Whatever you have."

Emma nods, and then suddenly all of the purple magic is just flowing out of her hands, surging towards Greg and slamming right into his chest.

He collapses to the sand, whimpering. When the magic stops, he looks up at Emma, eyes wide in disbelief. And then he crawls his way over to Regina and drapes his body over hers. "She owes me," he whispers, and yet for the first time, there's no anger in his tone, just childish sadness and devastation.

"We need to get to her," Emma says. "He might have broken her jaw."

"Right," David replies. He steps forward and pulls Greg away from Regina, forcibly yanking him up and then onto the sand a few feet away. "Stop," he growls as Greg struggles against his tight hold. "Enough; it's over."

"It's not over until she's dead. I want her dead. She needs to die." He's shaking, his face contorting into an ugly mess of hurt and heartbreak.

"Well then, you're going to have to wait a few years," David tells him as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and extracts a pair of stainless steel cuffs. That he has no idea where the key to this set is is completely beside the point; he's just suddenly glad for the foresight he'd had when he'd placed them in there. "Because she's not dying today. No one else is."

"She deserves to die," Greg insists once more.

"She deserves to pay," David answers as he snaps the cuffs on. "And I think you more than accomplished that with that electrocution stunt you pulled."

"There's will never be enough payback for her. Except for death." Greg insists petulantly. He continues to struggle against David as she speaks.

"Her death won't bring your father back," Snow says, kneeling down beside the two of them. Her face is soft and compassionate, and David feels a surge of jealousy – small, but there just the same – at the fact that Snow can always find a way to try to show kindness towards those who ill deserve it.

"It's not fair," Greg whimpers.

"No, it's not," Snow confirms. "But killing Henry's mother won't make it more fair. She's not who she was thirty years ago."

"I don't care."

David frowns, his mind a whirling mess. He looks over his shoulder, his eyes settling on the sight of Emma and Henry bent down over Regina's unconscious form. They've turned her over, and David can see the long jagged cut on her face, blood seeping down the brunette's ashen cheeks.

He thinks again about being judge and jury. Before, it'd been about condemning Regina to death. Now, it's about whether or not he – or anyone here – has the right to stop Greg Mendell from collecting on his pain.

Regina had taken something from him, and ruined his life. Do they have the right to deem Regina immune to his vengeance because they believe that she's changed and is worthy of a second, third, fourth or fifth chance?

Is this justice for Greg? Is protecting Regina justice?

It hardly matters, though, because he knows damned well that no one is getting past Emma or Snow at this point; for whatever reason, the two of them will recreate themselves as walls in order to protect Regina.

It infuriates David.

It mystifies him.

He thinks of finding Regina standing in the middle of the stables, mascara running down her tear-streaked cheeks. "He's gone," she'd whispered, speaking of her reanimated fiancee'. "I killed him this time. I killed him."

She'd said it over and over, as if confused and surprised to hear the words.

He hadn't said a word for the longest time, had simply stood there with her.

Until she'd whispered, "I think it's going to rain again. I should probably go see Pongo." The words had made little sense to him, so he'd simply nodded his head and stepped out of her away. And then watched while she'd exited the barn, crossed over to the car where Henry had been, hugged him tightly for a moment, and then walked away. It'd been strange even for her.

The next time they'd seen each other, two days later, she'd acted like the weirdness at the barn had never happened at all. He'd asked her how she was, and she'd stared blankly at him for a moment before replying with some caustic comment about how wonderful it was to be without her son.

That'd been the end of things until they'd partnered to bring Snow back, but even now, he can recall the shattered look on her face.

The absolute grief of loss.

And the devastation of knowing that it would never get better. All the vengeance in the world could do no better than all the King's Men could; it couldn't put her back together again, and even she had seemed to finally understand that in those brief moments of standing in the stables with him.

Now, he finds himself wondering about that woman, and this woman.

He finds himself wondering why they hell some people get hurt so badly that all they know how to do is hurt back. He doesn't understand the need to cause another pain, but he wonders who or what he would be if he did.

"It's over," David states. "And we're going home." His eyes flicker to Emma and Henry again, and he watches as Emma presses Henry's shirt to the wound on Regina's face. That she still hasn't regained consciousness is worrying, he thinks, but it looks as though Emma is handling hthings.

"I have nothing to go home to. I have no home. Tamara is dead, and you won't allow me to make her pay for what she did; I have nothing left."

"Then you start over and you make one for yourself," Snow tells him.

Greg's eyebrows shoot upwards. "And you would let me? After all of this."

"I think we all need second chances," Snow replies. "I know I do." She licks her lips, and David sees the image of her sitting on the stoop outside of Regina's mausoleum as clear as day in his head. He's guessing she can, too.

"Maybe I don't want one," he says, slumping down again.

"Well, that's too bad," David replies, pulling Greg to his feet. "Because like it or not, you're getting one. We're not leaving you here to this Pan guy."

"That's a mistake," Greg tells him, sounding so serious. "Because if you don't, I'll come after her again. I'll never stop."

David sees the way Snow closes her eyes, and he knows that she's thinking about Regina's vendetta and the pain that had been caused by it. He wonders if she's weighing everything out, but then she's shaking her head.

"I hope that's not true," she says. "Either way, you're coming home."

Greg starts to reply, but before he can, Emma shouts out in surprise, and falls backwards and away from Regina (who David notices is now sitting up – though he can't see her face), grabbing out at Henry as she does so. "What the fuck?" Emma gasps out, scampering away from the former queen.

"Emma?" David asks, stepping towards her. "What's wrong? What –"

"Stop," he hears. "Back away from the Queen." David's snaps around and he sees Hook (the speaker) and Gold standing several yards up the sand, surrounded by dissipating smoke. A moment later they both disappear in a flash of purple only to reappear next to the group a second later.

"What the hell is going on?" Emma demands.

"The Queen isn't who you think she is," Gold responds.

David's head snaps back on his neck. Such words are preposterous and absurd, and when he replies to Gold, his derision is obvious and ill hidden.

"Then who is she?"

The answer he gets is a high-pitched giggle from the former queen as she stands up, blood dripping down her face, her eyes black and glowing.

And then Regina smiles and says in a voice that isn't her own, "Hello."

* * *

He's been alive for somewhere north of three hundred years, and he's been through a whole lot of insanely crazy things along the way, but fighting back to back with his mortal enemy? Yeah, that's definitely new for him.  
And yet that is exactly what's happening right at this moment in time.

They're down to only four of the Lost Ones left, and normally these kinds of odds would favor a swashbuckling Captain and the Dark One, but it's not just a bunch of teenagers that they're facing off against. It's Peter Pan, too.

Pan has always been a bit of a cheater in Hook's book. Not only is his natural form fairly incorporeal (except for a short period of time once every seven days; this is usually when he does his kidnappings, Hook had learned), but he's also a body snatcher. Which is how he gets form. And right now, he's rapidly jumping between the willing bodies of his Lost Ones, using them to gain advantage and to keep his two opponents badly off balance.

This is all a game to him. Aside from his desire for revenge against an opponent who has caused him more than a few headaches, Pan has no use for Hook or Rumple, and thus, the shadowy bastard sees no harm in playing with them a bit before striking. So obnoxiously sure is the Shadow of his victory that he continues making his puppets laugh as he moves between them. "Have you no more fight than this, Killian?" he taunts. "I had remembered you being more formidable. Certainly more interesting."

"You always did talk too much," Hook groans as he swings his sword towards the young man of perhaps sixteen (he could be a lot older than that; there's no way to tell how old any of these children are) coming towards his left. To his right, Rumple has another of the teens lifted up into the air and he's swinging him around with a kind of vicious glee. "As for formidable, well it seems like we've taken out most of your boys, mate."

"Most," Pan responds with another one of his obnoxiously high giggles punctuating his words. "But not all. You shouldn't have come back. You know what I'll do to you once you fall." He smiles broadly then, pulling the boy's lips into a hideous grin that could only be caused by someone who doesn't actually know what it feels like to smile. Or doesn't remember.  
It's been over four hundred years since Pan has had his own body.

Once, Peter, an unwanted orphan of only fourteen year of age, had been exactly as the stories had described him to be: youthful, curious and desperately in search of the grand adventure. Unfortunately, his loneliness and his obsession with staying young (he'd always hated adults, having developed an intense hatred for the many ones that had treated him as disposable; he'd come to believe that growing older turned people into monsters and robbed them of everything that was pure) and keeping the friends that he'd brought back from other lands the same way - had warped his mind, and he'd reached out to one of Rumplestiltskin's predecessors.

That Dark One had made him a deal: in exchange for his physical body, he would have power and dominion over all of Neverland. Though he would exist as little more than a shadow, he would have control over time. He could stop it and keep everyone stuck in a state of perpetual childhood.

Unfortunately for Peter, what he'd learned quite quickly had been that many of his young companions hadn't wanted that. They'd been terrified of who he had become; frightened of this dark creature that had replaced the boy that they had once known had played with. Most of them had wanted to go home. They had wanted to leave him and return to their families.

Abandonment destroys people who are mostly whole, but it does terrible things to those who have sacrificed so much of themselves to be stronger.

If Pan had been warped before the change, the rebellion he'd faced after it had driven him almost completely insane. In a fit of rage, he'd brutally murdered all of his youthful companions. Besieged by grief and remorse, he'd called the Dark One back and tried to revoke the deal (begging the evil spirit to bring back the children that he'd killed as well).

The Dark One had laughed at him, and told him that it wasn't possible ("dead is dead, lad"), but then offered another deal instead: in exchange for his soul, he would grant Peter the ability to take over other bodies. He could use this ability to find a host that would allow him to again be whole.

Believing that the lack of soul would take away his pain (and it had), Peter had agreed to the deal. It would be the last time that he would ever go by that name. Once the deal was done – with a dramatic snap of the fingers from the Dark One - the boy who had once flown the skies with fairies had disappeared forever, and he'd been replaced by a cruel monster intent collecting and keeping those who would remind him of the boys who had left him and on finding the body that could contain his darkness.

Or so the legend goes, anyway. Hook had heard it from one of the boys he'd rescued from the island; a young man who'd been kept there for over a hundred years. The boy had joined his crew and stayed there until he'd found his true love in one of the ports. He's likely long dead now.

"Oh, I know," Hook shrugs, an impish smile covering his lips. "But you've tried before to peel my skin off, and well, here I am."

"Yes," Pan nods, and then suddenly the boy he's in jerks and goes slack for a moment as the Shadows jumps into the form of the teenager going sword to sword with Hook. It's a completely discombobulating situation for most people, but Hook's been through it a time or two before.

He knows this game, and he knows what signs to look for. He knows how to tell when someone has been taken over by Pan. Usually, it's in the victim's (or in the case of the creepily devoted Lost One's, willing host's) eyes. When Pan has control of someone, their eyes go black and seem to almost glow.

But it's also the way they hold themselves.

Like a marionette.

Pan never stays in a body long enough to really gain a comfort level over them; apparently the longer he stays within someone, the more the body breaks down around him. It actually quite physically decays. Turns out that most human bodies can't handle a parasite of such evil within them.

The boy he just left? Well his skin is an unsettling shade of gray now, and he's coughing up blood. Apparently, Pan had stayed in him too long.

"And here you are," Pan continues, the voice of the boy that he's now taken over deepening and becoming almost inhuman in sound. "Standing tall beside the man who took your woman from you. How very interesting."  
The pirate lightly taps his temple with his metal hook. "Ah, but I know your tricks, don't I, lad? I remember you inside my head and the way you worked at getting at me. I know what you're at and I know what you're after."

He glances over towards Rumple, who is now taking on the final two boys. His eyes meet the imp's and they exchange a nod of understanding: Hook will handle Pan and Rumple will deal with the teenagers, and then they'll figure out just what the hell is going on down near the water.

Greg had once again used the distraction of an explosion – this time caused by Emma Swan – to steal Henry away. Only this time, the rest of the rescuing party had been right behind him. Greg won't be getting too far.

This whole mess is going to end in just a few minutes, Hook well imagines.

Still, the Captain has a pretty good idea what it feels like to be pushed into a corner. He knows about the desperation that comes with the loss of love and purpose. He'd seen the body of Greg's lover slumped over, her neck broken, and he can only imagine how frightened and angry the boy is now.

Which means that the Queen and/or her son are likely in serious danger.

"Do you now? What am I at, Killian?"

"Why do you want with the Mills boy? Is he the one you've been after?"

"Answering a question with a question. You know one of my mothers told me never to do that." He laughs then. "I killed her."

"Yes," Hook drawls. "You're quite the lovely peach, aren't you?"

"I don't think you're as clever as you think you are, Killian," Pan says as he swings his sword around. His intent is not actually to win this fight; he doesn't want his preys damaged beyond use. He likes to wear them as suits until they're destroyed, and starting out mangled tends to shorten up his time rather inconveniently. Hook had discovered this personally after Pan and his Lost Ones had kidnapped he and several members of his crew, and then proceeded to try and destroy them all from the inside. He'd even partially succeeded at that; Hook had lost two of his oldest friends that day.

Worse than that, though, had been the reality that it'd by his hand that these old friends had fallen. Pan had already taken their fragile minds, and thus it had fallen to their Captain to put their bodies to rest. And so, reluctantly, he had; to this day he can still remember the sound his sword had made as it has pierced each of their hearts. His only comfort had been the understanding that their souls had already been long gone by then.

Though it's undeniably far easier for the Shadow to take over an unconscious host due to it's inability to fight back, he far prefers the euphoria of victorious battle against the broken will of a victim. He likes to destroy minds and force his puppets to surrender their bodies to him.

That's what he'd been attempting to do to Swan.

Hook has absolutely no intention of ever allowing that to happen to him. It almost had once, and he still has nightmares about Pan scratching away inside of his mind, tapping at every little doubt, hurt and insecurity.

Milah.

Baelfire.

No. Never again.

"Are you remembering your time with me, dear Killian?" Pan asks, that gruesome smile showing again. "I think you are."

"Oh, I am," Hook confirms. "And I'm remembering how you lost me. I'm remembering how one of your own betrayed you and helped me escape."

Pan waves his hand. "A setback. I will add you to my collection."

"Perhaps him," Rumple chirps, sounding more than a little bit annoyed at this whole conversation between Hook and Pan. "But not me." And then he grins, "And I'm afraid you have no one else to jump into."

Hook turns his head, observing the gruesomely destroyed bodies of the young boys that had once been Lost Ones. He recognizes one as the young man that he'd surrendered Baelfire to so long ago. "You killed them?"

"Would you have preferred to continue playing musical chairs?"

"No," Hook admits. Though ever agreeing with Rumplestiltskin causes his skin to crawl, he knows that he would be a hypocrite to get too terribly indignant about these deaths; he'd killed his share of Lost Ones on the way out of Neverland, and he knows that he'd do it again in a minute.

Still, children are children.

And there's so much blood everywhere.

"I find this fascinating," Pan laughs as he looks at Rumple. "You fight with the pirate who stole your woman and handed your son over to me."

Hook looks over at Rumple, his body tensing. This is certainly new news to the imp, and while it's an event from three hundred years ago – and Rumple really has no room to talk about doing Baelfire wrong – Hook had no expectation that the Dark One will be reasonable about this.

"Yes, well," Rumple replies, teeth grit into a malicious smile. "I'll happily see him dead once my grandson is safe from you."

"Delicious," Pan laughs.

"Enough of this," Hook growls out, trying to get back to the task at hand. He'll deal with the threat from Rumple later. "You're at the end of the line. You've got your last body, and he's already looking a bit worse for wear."

And he is; the boy the Shadow took over is falling apart quickly thanks to the intensity of the emotions that Pan is feeling. The body is decaying in front of them, dark black blood seeping from his nose and eyes.

Pan tilts his head for a moment, and then grins. "There is another."

"Another?" Hook demands.

"Your Queen."

That makes both men snap forward.

"I can feel her…waning. She'll make a good host, don't you think?"

The interesting thing about teaming up with someone that you don't trust is that you never quite know what to expect from them. In this case, though it's a reasonably pleasant surprise considering, Hook is absolutely not anticipating the explosion of magic energy that surges forth from Rumple's hand, blasting directly into the torso of the Shadow's young host.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Pan had been expecting the attack, and it comes a moment too late to actually trap the Shadow within his host.

Which, according to the same old legends that had told the tale of Pan's loss of innocence, is the only way to actually defeat the Shadow. The stories say that if Pan can be trapped inside the body of one of his hosts as it dies, well then he'll go with it, and Neverland will then finally be free.

Far easier said than done, unfortunately. After four hundred years, Pan has developed quite the sixth sense, and he knows when to abandon ship.

Hook watches as a dark swirl of smoke seeps up into the air and then, like leaves carried on the wind, rushes down the beach, away from the two men.

"He's going after Regina," Hook announces. "Can he actually take her?"

"If she's unconscious, yes absolutely," Rumple confirms.

"And if she's not?"

"The Queen is at her lowest point," the imp states with a careless shrug.

"Well you might not have a problem with letting her be taken by him, but I do," Hook growls. "No one deserves that little bastard in their mind."

"Regina deserves quite a bit," Rumple counters, his tone malicious.

"So do we," Hook challenges. "You made her into this."

"And you helped make me into this," Rumple reminds him.

"Then there's enough hate between all three of us to go around, but need I remind you that if the Shadow takes the Queen, he'll have full access to her magic, and her body just might be strong enough to make him whole."

"No, you needn't," Rumple allows, a strange look passing through his eyes; like maybe he knows something. He waves his hand around, and suddenly Hook feels smoke crawling up his body. Magic. It's cold and dry, and it makes him vaguely feel like vomiting, but just as he's thinking these things, it's over and he's standing in the middle of the sand, Rumple at his side.

Then he sees the Queen. She's flat on her back with Swan and the Mills boy bent down over her. Even from this distance, they can see that Swan is pressing some kind of cloth against Regina's jaw.

"She's hurt," Hook observes.

"No, she's unconscious," Rumple corrects. "And we're too late."

They watch as Regina suddenly jerks upwards, into the sitting position. A moment later, Swan is falling backwards, pulling the boy with her.

They hear Emma say, "What the fuck?" David steps towards her, towards Regina, and both men see the bizarre way that Regina turns her head to watch. Like one of those creepy puppets that sits on a ventriloquist's knee.

Feeling panic surge through him, Hook yells down the beach. "Stop. Back away from the Queen." He looks at Rumple and in a lower voice adds on, "We need to be down there. Do that thing." He twirls his hook in the air.

He's pretty sure that Rumple rolls his eyes at him before he again waves his hand, and that smoke is once more covering both of them.

When they reappear, they're right next to the group standing by the water.

Which allows Hook to see the way Regina's eyes are glowing. If he'd had any doubts before about her being possessed, they're gone now.

"What the hell is going on?" Swan snaps at them.

"The Queen isn't who you think she is," Rumple answers, peering down at Regina with what looks to Hook like the cruelest of curiosity.

"Then who is she?" David demands.

The answer they get comes in the form of the Queen awkwardly rising to her feet and letting out a painfully high-pitched giggle. There's bright red blood rushing down her face, and it increases in intensity when she forces his face into a hideously plastic smile and says in Pan's voice, "Hello."

"Jesus fuck," Swan whispers, her eyes as big as saucers.

"Quite," the Captain responds gravely. "Folks, if you haven't had the displeasure, let me introduce you to the boy formerly known as Peter Pan." He thrusts his hook towards Regina. "And now that we have all met, we need to get her out of there before he destroys her mind and soul."

"What?" Henry demands, and for a moment, the strangest look of absolute exasperation and almost hysteria passes over the boy's features.

"It'll be okay," Swan assures him. Hook sees her swing her head towards her parents, a look he can only describe as fear being shared between them.

"No, dear, I'm afraid it won't be," Pan says, and suddenly he sounds more like Regina than he does the Shadow. "But don't worry my sweet boy; no matter what happens here, I'll always protect you. You know that."

"Mom?"

"That's not your mother, Henry," Rumple tells him, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, but I am her and she is me."

"Not how it works," Hook snaps back. "Regina's sound asleep right now, and you're running the show all by yourself."

"Henry, it's me. You know me," she soothes in a voice that's entirely too sticky to actually be authentic. "I'm your mother. Come here." She swings out a hand to him, wiggling her fingers in a gesture meant to be inviting.

Before Henry can even consider what he might or might not do, Snow is reaching out for her grandson. Hook watches with a breath of relief as the former schoolteacher pulls the boy in close, her arms wrapping around him.

And then her prince steps in front of her, his sword out in front of him.

While Hook doubts that Snow White actually needs Prince Charming to protect her, he imagines that the woman is glad that he's there, anyway, simply so that she can concentrate on keeping Henry safe and in her arms.

Hook knows enough about the boy by now to know that he's not exactly good at doing what he's told to do. Or staying where's he supposed to.

The way he's straining against his grandmother, as if he's trying to get to Regina, well that explains exactly why the Prince is creating a wall with his body. Hook has no doubt that if David could get Swan behind it, he would.

But Swan isn't really that kind of woman.

Her eyes are on Regina's and she's staring right at the woman, as if trying to see down into her. As if trying to find the Queen somewhere in there.

It's a waste of time and effort, though; the Shadow had taken Regina over while she'd been out cold, likely knocked out from whatever had caused the ugly wound on her face. Typically, as Hook is all too aware, once Pan has control of a host, he only relinquishes it so as to jump into a different body.

"She's not there," Hook says softly. "Not aware, anyway."

"But she is in there, right?" Swan presses. Hook sees her eyes scramble for a brief moment over towards where Mendell is sitting, the man's hands cuffed behind his back. He's watching everything with wide frightened eyes, and it doesn't take much to realize that he's not a threat right now.

"She is," the Captain confirms, his tone grim. "Though how far down she is under the veil, well, unfortunately, that's hard to say exactly."

Swan's eyes jump away again, back towards Regina. "Then what do we do?"

"Oh there's nothing to do, my dear Sheriff Swan," Pan laughs, assuming his own voice once again when he continues. "You know, I'd always thought that the boy would be the one I'd want, but it turns out that the Queen is the one I've been looking for." He taps Regina's chest. "She's so strong."

And then as if to show just how powerful Regina truly is, he thrusts out her hands and throws a bright purple blast of magical power right towards Greg. It slams into his chest, and goes down, knocked cold. Only the unsteady rise and fall of his chest confirm that the man still lives.

"I thought she was on low power," Emma hisses towards Rumple.

"She is. He's draining from her life force now," Rumple answers with a frown. "And if he keeps doing that, he'll consume her within minutes."

"Oh, yes," Pan agrees. "But unlike most hosts that I drain down, I suspect that her body will hold me even after her soul has died." He flexes her hands, and then throws another burst of energy, this one towards the group. Rumple deflects it back towards the moon-lit water with a somewhat casual wave of his hand, but the bite of his teeth shows the lie; apparently what Pan is throwing at them is more than just casual energy. Apparently, he's using Regina's unconscious body as a lethal weapon meant to kill.

"No!" Henry shouts from somewhere behind David. "No!"

"Gold," Swan growls as she narrowly jumps another burst of dark purple magic. It's growing denser, becoming almost black, Hook notices.

The imp shrugs his shoulders as he effortlessly throws up a shield around them and holds it in place while the Shadow uses Regina's life force imbued magic to batter at it. "I'm afraid that getting Pan here out of the Queen now that he's tasted her is going to be damned near impossible.

"So there's nothing we can do?" Emma challenges. "I don't believe that."

"He said damned near impossible," Hook notes. "But not impossible. There is a way, isn't there?" His eyebrow lifts up and he stares right at Rumple.

"Why is that you care exactly?" the imp presses.

"I already told you why," the Captain retorts. "No one – not even Regina - deserves this kind of torture." He angrily gestures back towards Henry with his hook. "And we sure as hell didn't come all the way here to rescue Bae's boy only to leave one of his mothers behind."

"What torture?" Rumple challenges with a loud laugh that causes Hook's skin to crawl. "Regina's unconscious; the Shadow hardly needs to fight her mind for possession of her body. It can just take it as it will."

"He's killing her and you know it," Hook replies. "You're just too much of a coward to do what has to be done to stop this."

"If I recall, you didn't have a problem with leaving the Queen to her fate not too long ago," Rumple retorts. And it's true, but not the same thing at all.

"Enough, Gold; we're not leaving here without Regina so enough with your little power games," the blonde snaps, her hands clenching into tight furious fists. For a moment, Hook wonders if Swan might actually punch the imp. "Just tell me what I have to do and let's get this over with"."

"You don't listen very well, do you, Savior?" Pan taunts, using Regina's voice again. "There's absolutely nothing that you can do. She's gone."

Aside from her jaw tightening in reaction to his discomforting words, Emma ignores Pan, focusing instead completely on Rumple. "Tell me."

"She has to go into the Queen's mind doesn't she?" Hook asks, his eyes on Rumple. "She has to go and pull her out of what he's doing to her."

"Wait, you mean she did with me back at the campsite?" Emma queries, frowning. Her eyes snap to Rumple's, and the Dark One stares back at her with what Hook can only describe as blatant disinterest.

"Indeed," Rumple answers.

"Then I'll do it," Emma states. "I'll go in and get her out."

"You know how to mind walk, do you, dearie?" Rumple challenges. When she doesn't reply, he nods his head sharply. "No, I didn't think so."

Emma swallows, and then quietly, "Can you teach me?"

"No," Pan giggles out before sending another blast at the group that Rumple just does manager to deflect away.

"No," Rumple confirms. "Not before Regina's dead."

"But you can," Snow states, stepping out from behind David. Henry remains where he was (albeit reluctantly, held in place by one of the Prince's hand.

"Yes. But I'm not sure she'd accept the assistance," Rumple states. He grimaces again at another burst of energy slams against his shield.

"Then make her accept it," Emma snaps. "You owe her. You owe me, and you sure as hell owe Neal."

"Do I now?" Rumple challenges with a smirk. "And how's that?"

"Because I know," Emma says, meeting his eyes in a way that Hook has seen very few people do – and survive. "I saw what she saw in your mind. I know what you were planning to do back in Storybrooke. I know."

"Know what?" David demands, his whole body tensing as he watches the exchange between the Dark One and his daughter.

But if there are any other two people in the world besides Emma and Rumple, they're unaware of it, completely stuck in their own war.

"You came with us to do right by your son. Saving his mother – the person you destroyed to get to him – that's the right thing," Emma says.

"I owe her nothing," he sneers.

"Please," Henry says from behind David, reminding everyone that the young boy is seeing this whole insanity go down. It's easy to forget about everything besides the standoff and the fact that Pan is blasting away at Rumple's shields with the Queen's magic. That is until the entire reason that they're on this piece of land is begging for something to be done.

He's begging for his mother's life.

Rumple looks back at him and sighs, his face contorting into a frown that frankly unsettles Hook. "Fine." He looks at Emma. "But if I'm in there, I can't keep this shield up. It's time to see how strong you are, Miss Swan."

"Strong enough," she says, squaring her shoulders and continuing to stare right back at him. "Magic is emotion, right?"

"It is."

"Well I've got plenty of that going on right now, so you do what you have to do and so will I." Her vibrant green eyes flicker over to her parents and then over to Hook. "I'll throw up the shield, but you guys need to be on guard; if he gets through me, and with Gold inside, it'll be up to you."

"We got this," David assures her. His lips are set into a hard line that tells Hook that he's not too pleased at what they're doing, but knows that perhaps there is no other option. And that's true; if Pan takes Regina over permanently, and destroys her soul, they'll stand no chance against him.

Saving the Queen isn't just about saving her; it's about saving them all.

"Don't worry," Hook chimes in. "Do your thing, love." He hears a burst of cold laughter come from Regina, but chooses to ignore it; Pan is trying to throw them off balance for sure. He likely knows that they're planning some kind of rescue of the Queen (and considering the recent mental intrusion by Regina into Pan's attempt to take Swan, he probably has a good idea what they intend to do as well) and wants to stop it before their attempts can threaten the hold he has on the vessel he's been seeking for so very long.

Emma nods at Hook, and then looks at Rumple's, her eyes firing with intensity and determination. "Get him the hell out of her head," she says.

"If it's not too late," he counters.

"It's not," Emma insists, and then with almost surprising ease (Hook thinks he hears Snow gasp when she sees what her daughter can do) Swan lifts up her hands and throws up a blast of bright white magic to match the one Rumple already has in place to protect the group.

Hook looks straight ahead and watches as his two oldest enemies – Pan (care of Regina's body) and Rumplestiltskin stare at each other, a cold smile covering both of their lips in a way that seems uncomfortably familiar.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin knows where this is going before Hook even turns to stare at him, his blue eyes intense with that obnoxious smugness that has always been part of the pirate. That Rumple would like little more than to strike the man dead – especially after learning about his betrayal of Bae – is something that he has to force down. This is a truce, he reminds himself.  
At least for now.

Once Henry is safe and away from this island, well then all bets are off.

"She has to go into the Queen's mind doesn't she?" Hook suggests. "She has to go and pull her out of what he's doing to her."

Rumple nods his head, but says nothing else.

"Like she did with me back at the campsite," Emma suggests. And now she's the one looking right at Rumple. He stares back at her, trying to impress upon her terribly uninterested in assisting her he is.

Even if he knows that he will do so anyway. It's inevitable, really.

"Indeed," he says finally.

"Then I'll do it," Emma states, her shoulders squaring. Frankly, as annoyed as Rumple is with her arrogant presumptuousness, he's also impressed.

She'd make an excellent student. So full of emotion. So full of power.

Not that he imagines that the Prince or his wife would allow such. Then again, he knows that Snow had asked Regina to teach Emma and…

Ridiculous thoughts.

Should he survive this expedition – and he's not terribly sure still that he will; the prophecy had stated that Henry would be his undoing, and well, he's still waiting for that to occur – he's fairly certain that the only goal left in his mind is to get back to Belle, and try to do right by her.

Assuming that's even possible.

She's a sweet woman with a beautiful heart, but perhaps time and space away from him will show her the wisdom of separation. Perhaps it will show her that he's the last man she should be with. Deep down, he knows that he'd deserve no better than for her to turn her back on him.

And yet he hopes that she never will.

He wipes his thoughts of her, and concentrates on the now.

Pan is still throwing energy blasts at the shield he has up, and using the fullness of Regina's very powerful magic, it's becoming harder and harder to keep him out. Eventually, she'll break through if they don't stop her.

"I'll go in and get her out," Emma continues, still staring right at him.

"You know how to mind walk, do you, dearie?" Rumple laughs. After a moment of silence from the girl, he says, "No, I didn't think so."

"Can you teach me?"

"No," Pan giggles. The sound is enough to make Rumple want to strangle him, even if doing so would mean killing Regina. Then again, aside from that not actually being a problem for him, it might actually fix this whole mess.  
Not that Emma would ever allow him to do it.

He almost wants to laugh at the idea that the blonde could stop him.

"No," Rumple sighs. "Not before Regina's dead."

"But you can," Snow states, stepping towards them. Her face is set into that look that Rumple has come to identify more as the would-be-Queen from the old world than as the schoolteacher from Storybrooke; this one is strong and determined, fierce in her way of thinking and her feelings.

That she still feels so much for her former stepmother after all this time is, well, truly baffling for the Dark One; he would have thought that bond long dead. But then again, perhaps some connections even badly frayed don't ever truly break. He'd believed that true and possible with Bae.

Until he'd been told of his son's death.

Until he'd been told that nothing he'd done – all of the things he'd done – had amounted to absolutely nothing. He'd lost his son through cowardice once, found him through perversion of another soul, and then lost him once again through the fear and uncertainty that had raged within him.

Now, all that's left is this; finding a way to save Bae's child because doing so is the only way he can try to prove himself worthy of his deceased boy.

It'll never be enough.

"Yes. But I'm not sure she'd accept the assistance," Rumple replies with a shrug. He feels another burst splash against him, this one hot and painful. It's clear to him that the Shadow is digging deep into Regina's body, yanking out every bit of energy she has. He's honestly not sure that even he gets her to eject Pan from her body that she'll have the strength to survive this. Then again, if anyone could, it's the Queen. He'd have thought her dead a hundred times over by her own hand by now, and yet she survives.

"Then make her accept it," Emma growls out before challenging him once more. "You owe her. You owe me, and you sure as hell owe Neal."

He wonders if she knows just how close she is to him killing her; he wonders if she has a clue just how easy it would be for him to strike her dead.

"Do I now? And how's that?"

"Because I know," Emma replies, still so strong. "I saw what she saw in your mind. I know what you were planning to do back in Storybrooke. I know."

Vaguely, Rumple hears David asks for clarification, but all he sees is the blonde sheriff staring at him, and in that moment he knows that she does know exactly what he'd intended to do to Henry. Regina had been in his own mind earlier in the night, and apparently after he'd returned the favor, he'd broken down her mental walls enough for her to share thoughts with Emma. He wonders idly if Regina had even really know what she'd seen.

Considering her lack of warning or threat to him back in the cave, he's guessing no. Not that he's scared of her – or Emma – but well it's a dirty bit of shame that he'd rather have kept to himself.

When Emma speaks again, her voice is softer, almost conciliatory, and he thinks maybe she's a better politician than she ever would have given herself credit; she's placating him and trying to convince him to work with them. She's not resorting to threats, but rather to gentle pleading.

"You came with us to do right by your son. Saving his mother – the person you destroyed to get to him – that's the right thing," Emma says.

On the other hand, perhaps that's not her best way to go.

"I owe her nothing," he retorts, thinking of the basement of his castle and a young girl with so much heart in her heart. And then he thinks of a woman without a heart, and a girl locked away in a cell and then an asylum. He thinks of centuries of loss and anger, and he thinks of a broken contract.

But then the boy changes everything.

As children always do.

"Please," Henry says, his voice so soft. Rumple feels his heart – for it still does beat within him – seize just a bit at the thought of this child losing another parent. It's an odd and unsettling for him simply because his feelings for Regina are so complicated and dark, and yet this boy means something. He shouldn't because he surely will be the end of him.

And yet he looks so very much like Bae did when he was his age.

He laughs like him.

But for just a moment of hearing Bae beg him for anything ever again, Rumple would do just about anything. He has done just about anything.

"Fine," Rumple says. He looks over at Emma. "But if I'm in there, I can't keep this shield up. It's time to see how strong you are, Miss Swan."

"Strong enough. Magic is emotion, right?"

"It is," he nods, once again thinking about what an excellent student she'd make, and once again knowing he'll never have the chance at it.

"Well I've got plenty of that going on right now, so you do what you have to do and so will I," Emma tells him with that confidence that has always made him grit his teeth. "I'll throw up the shield, but you guys need to be on guard; if he gets through me, and with Gold inside, it'll be up to you."

"We got this," David assures her just before Hook does the same thing.

"Get him out of her," Emma says to him.

"If it's not too late," he shoots back, simply because it's that or light her on fire. It galls him to no end – and impresses him – how unafraid she is of him.

"It's not," Emma states with absolute certainty as she throws up a shield. It's not nearly as strong as his own is, and it won't last long if he fails to get Regina to fight back, but hopefully, it won't have to.

He draws down his own shield, takes one last look over at Henry to remind himself why he's doing this, and then stares directly at Regina.

And into her eyes.

He feels the way his body goes weightless, and the way everything of physical substance just seems to sweep away. There's darkness, then.

Everywhere.

Black, oppressive, cloying and damning. Cold and desolate.

"How very dramatic," he drawls, finding her finally. She's coated by shadows, the expression on her face one of fear and confusion.

"Where am I?" she asks.

"You know," he replies.

"Get out," she demands, and he thinks she sounds panicked and afraid. A part of him thrills at this, but another realizes that this will just make her job all the harder. Whether he wants to or not, he has to succeed here.

"I'm afraid I can't do that just yet, dearie," Rumple chuckles. "He motions around. "Seems your suicidal tendencies finally caught up with you."

"I'm not suicidal."

"No? Because it seems like you've been doing your best to die lately."

"And what do you care of that? You've been trying to kill me for decades."

"Mostly only as of late," he admits. "And besides, you've been rather stubborn about actually letting me do it. Until recently."

"Again, why do you care?" she demands, stepping out of the shadows and towards him enough for him to see how weak she appears to be.

"I don't, but your boy does. And his mother does. And her mother does."

"And what do you get out of…helping me? And don't say anything; there's always been something in it for you," Regina retorts.

He remembers why she was both his best and his worst student.

Her magical aptitude is beyond compare, and the rage bottled in her hot and vibrant was always a wonderful way to manipulate him towards his purposes. That same fury, though, has made her angry and suspicious.

It's made her wary.

All good things, he muses, when dealing with a Dark One, but not helpful when time is short and he knows that Pan is consuming more and more of life force by the moment. He can see it, too, even if Regina can't.

She's standing across from him, and every now and again, she almost seems to blink. She grows almost fuzzy and see-through.

She's dying and she doesn't yet realize it.

It would be so damned easy to just leave her to this, he thinks. It would be so very simple to just step back out of her polluted mind, and try to trap Pan within her damaged body. End the creature and the Queen all in one go. And sure, the sheriff might be righteously angry, and Henry might be hurt, but after that, what fool would dare mourn the Evil Queen?

Who would even want to?

But then there's Bae who he'll never see again and Belle who for reasons that he'll never understand actually believes that is something good inside of him. And yes, perhaps there's also Regina and the girl that she once was.

He feels no guilt, he reminds herself. She made her own choices.

But then so has he.

And he won't apologize for them. And this isn't an apology.

This is doing something for Bae and for Henry and for Belle.

This is doing what they would want him to do.

It's not an apology because he doesn't owe the Queen one.

He never will.

But for them, he'll do anything.

Even apologize even if it's not an apology.

"He's killing you," Rumple sighs.

"Who?"

"Pan. He's in you, Regina."

She blinks and he sees it; he sees the horror and fear streak across her face, painting her features in a way that reminds him of Milah entirely too much.

She's terrified, he realizes with a bit of surprise; she might actually be just a little bit suicidal; she might have even prayed for the end of things – anything to stop her from hurting and breaking over and over again - but not like this. Not at the hands of a creature trying to consume her soul.

He thinks of the wraith and the fear in Regina's eyes when he'd told her about it. He thinks of fates worse than death. He thinks of a tear in a bottle.

He sees her hand go to her chest, and it's a slightly absurd action considering that she's more spiritual than real here, but he understands it all the same; she's feeling her heart, ensuring that it's still beating within her.

"You're alive," he says quietly. "For now at least."

"And you came in to get me out? Why?"

"It was me or the Sheriff and I was pretty sure she'd lobotomize you."

"Which brings us back to why you care. What are you getting out of this?"

"I don't actually care," he says in a tone that he hopes she reads as disinterested. "But I also I don't much care for having to fight the Shadow in your body, either. And that's what he plans to do, dearie. Once he consumes your soul, and ejects what's left of you from your corpse, he'll wear you like his own skin, and he'll use your magic to murder your son."

"No!"

Rumple simply stares back at her.

"No," she says softer, shaking.

"Then I suppose for the first time in your life, Regina, perhaps you should fight back instead of just being used," Gold challenges.

"I have been fighting," she retorts, her face coloring bright red. "That's all I ever do. That's all I've ever done, and where has it brought me?"

"To a second chance you ill deserve, but you've been given anyway."

Her head lifts. "Who are _you_ to condemn me? And who are you to talk to _me_ about being used when that's all you ever did to me?"

"Are you blaming me for your sins again?" he asks, sounding like he's mocking her. It's just for effect, though. He's trying to piss her off because even though anger has brought her to her lowest places, it has also given her the strength to fight, and she needs that right now.

They all do.

She glares at him, her nostrils flaring. "You son of a bitch."

"I'll take that as a yes," he sighs. "How sad for you to always be a victim."

"I'm no one's victim," she snaps.

"Then prove it and eject this creature from your own mind," Rumple challenges. "I taught you well. You know how to do it. You need neither magic nor power to establish ownership over yourself. So do it."

Deep down, he knows that it's not as simple as this.

He better than anyone understands the games that had been played with the Queen's life; he'd been part of almost all of them. He'd intentionally warped her to his purposes, and he well understands the unfairness of demanding that she take control of something that he'd taken from her.

But it's time to let her go and it's time for her to let herself be free.

Their time together as teacher and student is long over.

And so is their time as puppet and puppeteer.

He stares at her and she at him.

Then he sees it: purple covering her. It's weak in color but damned if she isn't finally fighting back. She clearly hurts, but she's doing it.

He thinks he feels a weird sense of pride. Disgust at himself for not leaving her to this hell, but also a feeling of…well, Bae would be proud, he hopes.

"Uh uh," he hears, then, and it yanks him from his thoughts.

His head snaps around, and then he and Regina are staring at a form shrouded completely in darkness. The Shadow. Without even realizing it, he and Regina move closer to each other. Shoulder to shoulder.

"I don't think so," the Shadow says, his voice almost a shrill trill. "I'm not letting the Queen go. I like her body too much for that. It fits."

"No," Regina says simply. She closes her eyes then, and suddenly everything around them is squeezing inward. Regina always did have a strange liking for vines and weeds; something that had no doubt come from Cora.

He wonders if she even realizes it.

The invisible cords of darkness circle the Shadow, tightening around his form. He might be incorporeal, but in here, he's as real as any of them are.

And this is Regina's playground now that she's back in control. Her lips curl into an angry sneer, and her eyes blaze with bright raging purple.

"I'm going to kill you," she says stepping towards the Shadow. "But first I want to know what you wanted with my son."

"You can't kill me. I own you now."

She squeezes her hand and he howls. "My son."

"Prophecy," the Shadows whimpers, suddenly sounding like a small child.

"Explain."

"A prophecy from the Dark One –" Regina glances over at Rumple, and he shakes his head in the negative; this one isn't on him. "He told me that if I found the boy who matched the drawing that he gave me, I would be whole again. He told me the boy would bring to me what I needed. And he did."

"He's a child," she snarls. "He's my child."

"He's who I was."

"No," Regina growls. "He'll never be you." She squeezes again, and he howls in agony. It's this white-hot pain that suddenly ricochets through Regina, reminding her of the fact that all of this is occurring in her own mind. She crumbles, wincing and just barely biting back a cry of her own.

"Before you cause yourself an aneurism, perhaps we should take this outside," Gold suggests mildly, his eyes on the dark creature whimpering in the middle of the blackness that is Regina's mind. "And finish him there."

"You can't," Pan hisses. "Without a body, I'm invincible. And if you push me out of hers, you'll never get me, Dark One. Killing her is your only way."

"He wants me to kill you," Rumple says to Regina. He sees her tense and he can't help but chuckle, but on any other day, he'd consider it.

More than consider it.

But Bae and Belle and Henry.

And the belief that all three of them have that he can be more than he is.

She stares back at him.

"But not today, I think," he says. "I believe I taught you how to remove external forces from your mind, Your Majesty."  
"Indeed, you did," she confirms, rising back to her feet. "You should leave now," she tells him. "It's about to get quite…ugly in here."

"Has it ever not been?"

"For a time," she replies. "And when my son is near."

It's such an honest response, and though he finds disgust within himself for what she allowed herself to become, he understands her as well. Better than she has ever wanted him to, and more than he would have liked to.

He understands the need she has for love and peace and family.

It's time for her to take back ownership.

He nods his head and thinks of sentiments like "good luck" and "I'll see you on the other side" but these aren't things that the two of them would ever share with each other; they're not friends in any way and never will be.

And on another day, he'd happily see her dead.

Just not this day.

The darkness fades away slowly, quickly and then becomes the blackness of a cool night by the ocean. It's the buzz of magical energy that brings him back to his senses and he sees Emma still standing there, bleeding from the nose as she keeps the shield in place. She looks exhausted and spent.

But she's still fighting back as well. Though Pan is deep inside Regina's mind, assuredly struggling with the Queen for ownership of her soul, he's still using her powers to try to break down Emma's defenses.

So far, he's failed.

Because she's fighting for the Queen.

Because she's fighting for her family.

He wonders if Regina is worth it.

He wonders if he'll ever be worth it.

He's not sure that it actually matters at this moment. He steps up next to Emma, and extends his hand, adding his darker colored magic to hers.

"Did it work?" she asks, lifting a hand to wipe away blood. "Were you able to get to her?" She blinks several times, but doesn't relent.

He's about to reply, about to shrug his shoulders like he doesn't care.

He's about to tell her that he'd done what he could and if it doesn't work, that's Regina's fault for not being strong enough.

But then Regina is gasping and falling backward, the magic stopping.

"Regina," Emma calls out, dropping her own shield before Rumple can stop her. It could be a trick; a way for Pan to bring down their defenses.

But then Regina breathes the one word that tells everyone that it had worked, that he had been successful and that the Queen had fought back.

"Henry," she whispers, gritting her teeth in pain.

"Mom!" the boy calls out, and there's nothing David can do to hold him as he breaks away from his grandfather, steps around his other one and surges towards the woman whom he had seemed to hate such a short time ago.

Love and hate truly are curious things, Rumple muses.

"Yes," Rumple says to Emma. "I'd say it did." His eyes are on Henry as the boy wraps his arms around his mother and tries to hug her as hard as he can. That her skin is gray and her eyes are bloodshot is lost on him. That she's so weak that she might not ever be able to stand again is as well.

He only knows that for now, he still has her.

Rumple feels the conflicting emotions – the ones he always feels for Regina – surge up in him. Anger, sadness, hatred, fascination and a bit of guilt.

He thinks of Cora and second chances.

He watches as Emma and Snow White drop down beside the Evil Queen. He sees Emma touch her shoulder, offering comfort and support. He hears Snow tell her- promise her – that everything is all right now.

He thinks of letting go.

It's time.

And suddenly he feels all of his three hundred plus years.

He thinks of Belle and final chances.

He hears a cold high laugh from somewhere nearby. He hears Hook yell out in alarm, and he feels the man – a man he's hated for so long and now can barely manage to pull together even a strong sense of dislike - tense up, as if ready to once again defend himself.

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Greg rise up like a puppet on strings, his dull now black eyes glowing white. This is Pan's final stand.

Pan as Greg rips his hands apart and the cuffs break and bone shatters, and the man screams and races for Regina, palms out towards her.

Rumple's head turns, and though Regina – as terribly weak as she is - is crying out for him to stop and not do it, he does what has to be done.

What must be done.

Because he is sad and hurt and alone.

And he is just done with this place.

He always did fucking hate bodysnatchers.

His hands lift and he snaps it around. And then he lets everything out. The magic pours from his fingers, and he thinks maybe he's never used so much of it all once and towards just one person. He hears Hook swear. He hears David say, "Oh my God."

And then he hears the body of Greg Mendell – or what's left of it – hit the wet sand, the soul of Peter Pan trapped forever within his destroyed body.

It's over.

And it's time to go home.

He turns around and faces the rest of the group. They stare at him in shocked horror – all except for Regina and Hook. Hook matters not to him anymore, but it's Regina weary eyes that he finds and holds.

She's so pale and drawn and weak and broken and perhaps even dying slowly, but he sees the understanding there; the understanding he never wanted from her because they're not the same, and they never will be.

And he owes her nothing and never will.

But though he's loathe to admit it, Hook's right and Emma's right: they didn't come all this way for Henry to lose one of his mothers.

He tells himself these things, and perhaps, he is better than anyone else at believing the words that go through his mind. The absurdities that allow him to sleep at night and not think of three hundred years of hurt and hate.

He steps towards her kneels down towards her. He reaches for Emma's hands and though he feels her stiffen at his touch, she allows him to move them to Regina's face – a palm on each cheek. "Heal," he says.

Because whatever else he feels or doesn't feel or wants or doesn't want, he knows enough to know that of the three people who can do magic on this island, only one of them still has the chance to not be broken by it.

Only one has a chance to not lose herself to it.

He know, then – and it's a moment of clarity that he finds more unsettling than calming – that this will be the last thing he ever teaches Emma Swan.

She's not meant to follow his path or Regina's.

"Heal," he says again, his eyes sliding over towards Henry's. He sees the way the boy watches him, without fear or recrimination. Just hope.

And Bae's trusting eyes. The ones that never really had stopped believing.

Emma opens her mouth to ask him what to do, but he shakes his head.

"Magic is emotion," he reminds her, sounding suddenly very old and tired.

She nods her head, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

Once the glowing starts and Emma is pushing her energy into Regina's wounded body, grinning like a fool as she heals the Queen from her injuries and all things that Pan and Mendell did to her, he steps away.

He thinks of a boy and a bean and a portal.

He thinks of a prophecy uttered by a sightless woman.

He thinks of a lover and a promise and a lie and a broken heart.

He thinks of a baby girl with dark hair and dark eyes.

He thinks of a blonde woman with a badge on her hip.

He thinks of a child with curious spirit and an impish smile.

He thinks of being undone.

And he finally understands just how tricky prophecies truly are.

**TBC**

* * *

**The final chapter will be from the POVs of Emma/Regina and Snow, and should be up in about a week or so. Thanks again for reading. You can find me on tumblr at sgtmac7.  
**


	5. 5

A/N: We have reached the end. Thanks for all the kind words and I hope that this bit of emotional tie-up with our three ladies satisfies.

Warnings: Eh, not so much for this. Maybe a spicy word or two.

* * *

There's a curtain of fire in front of her. It's bright and blazing red, and she's terrified nearly out of her damned mind because this might be the end of things and that terrible inferno in front of her might really be the horrific afterlife that some in the world that she'd cursed everyone to believe in.

Eternal damnation and punishment, those from that world had believed this place called Hell to be. Well, if anyone would be worthy of such, it'd certainly be the Evil Queen, she thinks with a surge of nearly paralyzing fear.

Panic setting in, she desperately tries to pull back and away from the fire, but it's like there's an invisible rope cinched tight around her waist, and struggle though she does, it's yanking her closer and closer to the inferno.

Closer to the unknown.

It is peace or punishment? All she'd wanted was for the pain to be over. All she'd wanted was to feel…nothing. To simply cease hurting and if that had meant no longer existing, well then so be it. But this…perhaps she's owed it, but that doesn't mean she has to walk into it willingly.

She whispers her son's name like a prayer.

She pleads for forgiveness that she doesn't believe she deserves.

She cries for a future that's she's just now realizing how much she wants.

She asks for another chance.

More time.

Hope. Love. Redemption.

Please.

* * *

The magic starts out feeling pretty damned good. It's crisp and clean and so goddamned _pure_ that it almost burns her from the inside out. It's strange to think of light magic as being violently corrosive, but it is and Emma feels it.

All magic – even the pure white light stuff - apparently, comes with a cost.

Her cost, which she learns quickly enough, is pain. Burning and intense, it feels a bit like what hot coals being shoved through her bloodstream might.

It's manageable, though, and so she keeps her hands on Regina's face, a glowing palm on each cheek. Regina's head is craned backwards, the gash from Mendell's pistol-whipping standing out brightly against her unusually pale skin. Blood seeps down, slower now, though. Her dark eyes are closed – she'd lost consciousness at some point right after the magical energy transference or healing or whatever this is had begun a few minutes earlier - but fluttering wildly, like maybe she's caught in some kind of dream.

Like maybe she's trapped in some kind of awful nightmare.

Maybe the last one she'll ever have if this doesn't work.

"Heal," Gold had said, and so she is. Or at least she's trying to. Emma's not terribly sure just how successful she's really being; she's tired and growing more so by the moment, but she keeps trying because Regina still isn't moving, still isn't showing any signs of life, and Emma can feel the agitation from those around her. She can feel – almost even taste - their fear.

Especially from Henry and Mary Margaret.

And from herself.

She's afraid that she won't be able to stop this.

She's terrified that this will be the one time that she won't be able to be the Savior that destiny and fate and a selfish madman had set her up to be.

She's never really desired such a role, never really embraced it (and doesn't think she ever will completely), but at this moment in time, it's all she wants to be. She needs to be the Savior. For Henry, for her mother, for herself and for Regina who had saved her life and her sanity only a short time ago.

For Regina, whom she so very desperately believes has earned the right to fight for her redemption through the act of living instead of that of dying.

Almost absently, the thumb of Emma's left hand rubs against the soft skin of Regina's cheek. To the sheriff's relief, the former queen is still warm, and well, that's something. "Come on, Regina," she whispers. "Don't do this."

As if she can actually hear Emma, Regina's mouth suddenly rips open and a pained cry spills forth. "Henry," she says, her voice broken, "I'm so sorry."

Henry – who's had his head rested against his mother's chest since almost the moment that she'd crumpled to the ground after Pan had been forced out of her – lifts it up now and looks Regina, his bright eyes wide and afraid.

"Mom?" he says. "Mom, I'm here. I forgive you. Please don't leave me." He scrambles to try to touch her, to feel her warmth beneath his palms, and perhaps even – morbidly – to remember the feel in case this is all he has left of the woman who had raised him for the first ten years of his life.

His mother.

Despite the way Henry's shuddering and devastatingly vulnerable words break her already fragile heart, Emma tries to push all thought of him away; she tries to force herself to ignore him, and instead, she focuses on the other thing that Gold has continuously told her: magic is emotion.

She closes her eyes and presses her thumbs against Regina's cheekbones.

She thinks of a hospital room and holding a newborn child in her arms.

She thinks of meeting that boy not long after he'd turned ten.

She thinks of the woman who'd raised him. Not always well, but always with as much love as she'd been capable of at the time. And when Regina _had_ been capable of more – capable of dying for her son – she'd humbled herself willingly for him; she'd surrendered her own life so that he could live.

Emma thinks of a mine and a diamond and magic flowing back and forth.

She thinks of the end of everything and how they'd stopped it together.

She exhales as the bright white magic inside of her blooms and explodes.

She feels the energy circle her and Regina, extending out from her hands and Regina's face. It surrounds both of them and Henry, too. She thinks to push him away, but something inside of her says that his presence within this strange bubble can only help – it can only make them all stronger.

Maybe it can even help her to save his mother's life.

* * *

"Emma," Snow gasps out as the bright white light begins to surround the threesome on the ground. She can still make out their positions – Henry draped over Regina's unconscious and horizontal frame and Emma bent forward, her glowing hands rested against the former queen's face.

It's not their positions that frighten Snow; it's the magic flowing around them like waves on the ocean that terrifies her. It's bright and explosive, and the power she feels radiating off the little family makes her knees feel weak and her head pound. It's vibrant like the smell of fresh cut flowers and it's as deeply intoxicating as the strongest glass of Regina's apple cider.

"Are they all right?" she hears David ask, and she knows he's demanding it of Gold and not her. She can feel Hook stirring to her side, seeming anxious and on-edge, as if to suggest that he's waiting for another attack.

"Possibly," Gold says in that dismissive tone that makes her want to strike him dead where he stands. A part of her – the same part that wonders if she should have let Regina be executed so many years ago – wonders what would have happened if she had allowed Gold to die in the far back room of his little Pawn shop. Would they be here now? Would things be better?

There's no way to know and perhaps it's best not to dwell there, anyway.

She's finally beginning to understand that there are no such things as do-overs. They can't just pretend like the past never occurred, but maybe they can start anew.

Maybe they can start over.

Assuming Regina lives – and right now Snow won't even humor the idea that Regina might not (how very strange to feel this way about the woman who'd nearly destroyed her life and played a principle role in the separation of her from her child, a voice in her mind muses) – the only real path left to any of them is forward together.

Hopefully towards forgiveness and redemption.

"What does that mean?" Snow demands as she turns to face Gold, her jaw set into a line of determination. "Is my daughter in danger? Do I need to –"

"Pull her away and stop her from saving the Queen?" Gold chuckles, the sound cold and cruel. "Well now, dearie, I believe that you had that chance before and you didn't then; we both know you won't stop her now, either."

"Is Emma in danger?" David repeats, looking like he's about to slug Gold.

"No," the imp sighs. "At least not fatally so. She's giving Regina almost all of the energy that she has, but not enough to kill her. Emma's not nearly strong enough in magic yet to be able to pull from the bottom of the well."

"So what do we do?" Snow asks, her eyes returning the bizarre light show occurring in front of her. She can see that Regina's body appears to have lifted several inches off the ground now, Henry's arms still wrapped tight.

"We wait," Hook rumbles. Following her eyes. "Either you daughter will be successful and thus able to bring the Queen back or she won't be."

"Either way," Gold assures them. "Miss Swan will be returning to us soon."

* * *

The former Evil Queen is just about touching the wall of fire, and everything around her is fading away into sheets of bright red when she feels the pull against her mid-section, and then another stronger one against her chest.

Against her heart.

There's a flood of energy, then. Strong and brilliant and full of emotion.

It's so very Emma Swan.

She knows the touch of magic well, and though Emma's magic has only merged with hers three times before now – once in City Hall, once in the mines and then once a few minutes ago when she'd jumped into Emma's mind – she knows exactly who it is that is pushing life back into her.

Apparently, the Savior never gives up.

She feels the crackling electricity in the air; the magic being fed into her might be enough to pull her back from the edge if that's what Regina wants.

It feels a bit like a dare.

It feels a whole lot like a challenge.

Live. Fight. Love.

Maybe, it's time to finally answer the challenge.

Maybe, just maybe, it's time to live again.

And yes, perhaps even eventually love again, too.

* * *

Emma can actually feel the moment when Regina starts fighting back in her blood; she can feel the way the former queen begins to push against whatever endgame forces are trying to drag her down and under. She can feel the way Regina is accepting the energy transference – not greedily, but hungrily as if she's famished. Her body arches and her eyes open, and then she's staring upwards, at the ebony sky above, seemingly sightless.

Which is when Emma begins to understand that what she's giving Regina is still not enough to alter either of their fates. Regina's fighting and trying to answer the challenge given, but she's been through so much and she's been hurt so very badly – both physically and mentally - and Emma thinks that perhaps she's just not skilled enough to turn the clock completely back.

She hears Henry call for Regina, and then she watches in surprise as a blue bolt jumps forth from him. He has magic, too, she realizes with a sharp start.

"Henry," she whispers, not sure if she should stop him or encourage him.

He looks up at her, his green eyes frightened, and she starts to pull her hand away from Regina to touch him – and yes, now to stop him because Regina would never want her son to suffer for her even if it meant her life – but he's shaking his head, and then he's reaching for her and slamming his hand over hers atop Regina's cheek; like he knows exactly what to do.

Like he's always known.

Magic is emotion.

Emotion is magic.

Who are you trying to protect?

Who are you trying to save?

She feels the warmth surge forward from Henry's hand and into hers. His eyes are on her and he's smiling like he's figured it all out. "It's okay," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "This is going to work."

She remembers this particular tone all too well; Henry had used it on her the day they'd met; the day he'd told her that she'd been in his book of fairytales. He'd been right back then, and so she prays that he is today, too.

Luckily for all of them, he is.

It's just seconds after her magic has merged with that which exists within Henry when she hears Regina gasp, and then mother and son watch with matching relieved smiles as the former queen's eyes snap to awareness.

* * *

Time moves slowly – if at all - here in Neverland; it creeps and crawls but never really goes anywhere at all. It's a lot like Storybrooke in that regard.

Still, Snow thinks that at least an hour and perhaps even two must have passed since Regina had lost consciousness due to her injuries and Emma had begun her attempt at saving her life. More realistically, though, she suspects that little more than a few minutes have eclipsed since then.

She's growing restless and anxious and afraid, and even the parts of her that so desperately want the chance at forgiveness and reconciliation with Regina are beginning to consider ending this simply so she can prevent Emma and Henry from being pulled down by the deathly undertow as well.

Something strange is happening within the bubble; if she didn't know better, she'd think that Henry was using magic as well. That's impossible, though. It's already bizarre – and upsetting – enough that Emma can, but it makes absolutely no sense that Henry would be able to as well. Right?

The truth is that she just doesn't know. She's never really understood magic and how it works. She knows that some can be taught to weld it via books of magic or given it thanks to cursed objects, but apparently there's the third category which includes those like Emma and Regina who just have it swimming around in their bloodstreams. It's elemental to them.

Perhaps to Henry as well.

She tries not to think about this because she doesn't want magic touching her life and her family anymore than it already has. She understands that what Emma has can't be ignored; it'll have to be controlled and tempered and she'd hoped that Regina would be the one to provide such skills to her daughter – a form of redemption mixed with trust and faith.

She still hopes that this will come to pass, but that doesn't mean that she actually wants to accept the reality that magic is a part of all of them now.

Especially if it's within Henry, too.

"We should stop this," David says, his voice shaking.

She thinks to confirm this, to do exactly that, but then her head is shaking without permission and she's saying, "No, give them…it's almost over."

And she's right because a moment later, Regina's stirring and moving.

Like she's alive.

Like she's come back from the edge.

The energy field around the three of the blazes hot for a moment before blinking and floating away like pollen caught by a cool breeze.

"Emma?" Snow asks as she watches Emma tumble away from Regina, Henry wrapped up tight in the sheriff's arms. He's shaking from the exertion of it all, but he's also almost giggling in relief as he leans into his blonde mother.

"I'm here," Emma replies softly as she drops a kiss down onto Henry's crown, holding it there a moment and giving him a squeeze. "We all are."

Snow turns and confirms Emma's words with her own eyes; Regina is sitting up, her legs splayed out in front of her and her head rested in her shaking hands. She's trembling fiercely – almost looking like she's convulsing beneath the weight of her tremors - but she's breathing all the same.

Snow closes her eyes and lets out a breath.

"Welcome back, Your Majesty," she hears Hook say with what sounds like a warm chuckle. "Had a good sleep did you?"

"Shut up, Hook," Regina growls back.

And there it is; that – Regina being Regina; cranky, snarky and sassy – is enough to make Snow laugh.

Because they're in Neverland and twenty-eight years ago she'd been cursed by her vengeful former stepmother to the life of a schoolteacher and her daughter is the same age as she and David are and they've just defeated Peter Pan and dear God, she wonders if life can get any stranger than this.

But then she sees the way Emma and Henry are watching Regina – with large smiles of relief and happiness – and she thinks that yes, it can.

* * *

"Henry," Regina says, looking right back up at then. She doesn't exactly understand the joyful looks they're giving her – the way her son seems to almost be bubbling with excitement and happiness – but she accepts it.

And then he accepts her by rushing her and wrapping his arms around her.

That's when she feels it: the magic still sliding through his body. She pulls back and looks at him, fear shining vividly in her dark eyes, but he just smiles at her. "It's okay," he assures her. "I don't want it. I just wanted you."

The words are so young and innocent and naïve and simple, and he just doesn't understand how terrifying magic is and what it can do to all of the good inside of him, but a look up at Emma promises her that they _will_ deal with this later –together – and that yes, it will be okay.

Regina sighs and holds her son tighter. His arms squeeze around her, like he's trying to be her brave strong boy, like he's trying to pull all of the hurt and pain out of her. It doesn't work like that and he can't stop the way she shakes, but he does make her feel warm and alive. And loved.

Gods, he makes her feel loved.

Finally, reluctantly, she allows him to slide away from her. She feels the discomfort of everyone watching her, and tries to sit up straighter.

"Need a hand up?" Hook asks with a grin.

"Actually, Captain, I need both." She punctuates her words with a large smile that doesn't reach her eyes (he shrugs, of course, because such jokes no longer bother him) and turns to Emma. Her left hand shoots out, but before a very stunned Emma Swan can react – and she looks like she's about to sputter in protest – Regina is stubbornly pushing herself to her feet.

Or trying to do so, at least.

The thing about having been mostly dead – and then being brought back to life by the inexperienced yet still bizarrely strong healing magic of the Savior – is that your body isn't quite right afterward. And hers isn't.

Fatigued and weak doesn't even begin to cover it. Her jaw hurts, though she can tell that the possible break there has been significantly mended. All of her injuries have been, and that alone is damned impressive indeed.

Because twenty minutes ago, Emma hadn't known how to heal a butterfly with broken wings much less an almost dead former Evil Queen.

Regina's envious, but only because every magical lesson that she'd ever learned had come painfully hard to her. Magic is elemental within her, and yet she'd resisted succumbing to it until she had done so completely.

Until she'd fallen and then kept on falling.

She vows that she won't let that happen to Emma.

She sure as hell won't let that happen to Henry.

"Regina," Emma says, her warm hand closing around the brunette's much cooler one. "Hang on a sec, would you, please? You just -"

"I need to see him," Regina snaps back, ignoring Emma's warning.

"See who?"

"Owen."

"Who?" David asks, stepping forward. He's wearing an expression of extreme confusion, and Regina for once doesn't actually blame him; the last several days have been absolute insanity, but the last hour has been madness. Between both she and Emma get body-snatched and then Rumple murdering Owen, things have gone decidedly upside down in a hurry.

Not that they were ever exactly right side up to begin with.

Things have been so very wrong so very long now, she's not entirely sure what she's supposed to think or say when they're not. What is she supposed to do when she's still alive and her son is watching her with an expression that she can only identify – and hope she's right about – as love.

What comes next?

She exhales and blinks because thinking of the future has always been a sport of pain for her. It's never brought her happiness because aside from the few months when she'd been with Daniel, the future has always looked decidedly dark and horrible to her.

Full of heartbreak and betrayal.

But Henry is looking at her, and yes that _is_ love.

And Snow is looking at her, and she thinks that's forgiveness.

And Emma, well she has no idea what the expression that the sheriff is currently wearing is. Understanding and empathy perhaps?

Or something more.

Something that she's not even close to ready to deal with.

In fact, may never be ready to deal with.

Regina extends her hand once more, this time in the direction of Owen's destroyed body. "Owen," she says softly. "That's who he was."

"There's not much left of him now," Rumple tells her, and though his voice is soft and almost gentle, she can hear the mocking tone beneath his words.

He was in her mind and saw everything; he's always been able to do such, and this time was no different. He knows exactly who Owen is to her. He knows exactly what she'd done to him, and how deeply those sins hurt. But then she also knows his sins - what he'd been thinking of doing to his grandson, to _her_ son. They exchange a look that says everything between them: there are no new beginnings for them; there are some destroyed bonds that can never be mended. There are some that shouldn't be.

They hold their gaze for a moment longer; having a full conversation with their eyes. She asks him to let her go and he simply blinks and looks away.

"I need to bury Owen," Regina says finally as she turns away from Rumple. She gazes up at Emma and then Snow and swallowing back all of the pride within herself, she says, "Please."

Because she doesn't have the strength to do this alone.

And she has to do this.

For the child she'd hurt so badly.

For the boy she loves so much.

For the girl still inside of her that never wanted for any of this to happen.

"Of course," Snow says.

"Yeah," Emma agrees. Then, "We bury everyone. Even Tamara."

Regina tilts her head at this; it's probably more than she would have offered to do considering that the woman had murdered Henry's father for no reason other than because she could, but that fierce light that she's come to recognize in Emma's eyes as being her conscience is burning bright, and Regina understands that this is about Emma trying to do the right thing.

Even if maybe she doesn't want to.

"Respect for the dead," David agrees.

Emma's eyes find her and she inclines her head in agreement. Because this nightmare is over and she's alive and she's so damned tired of being angry.

"I think I saw a shovel or two back up at the camp," Hook offers.

"I'll go with you," David says.

Regina thinks to offer her thanks for all of their assistance, but she simply nods her head instead. She can feel the strength within her ebbing again; Emma had brought her back from the edge but she's still so very weak.

She wants to close her eyes and sleep.

But not until this is done.

Not until she's buried her dead.

* * *

They end up burying the bodies in a heavily wooded area about a mile from the Lost Ones' camp. With assistance from Gold's magic, Hook and David dig the fairly shallow graves quickly, and then each of the fallen souls is put into the ground with a blanket wrapped tight around them as if to keep the chill of the night away. The affair is suitably somber; no one says a word.

That is until the men head back towards the camp to finish cleaning it up; Hook wants to remove all traces of the Shadow lest someone else try to assume his mantle, and it's just Regina and Mary Margaret and Emma standing together over Greg's grave, the dirt packed tight over his badly destroyed body.

Emma thinks that maybe as awful as this day has been, maybe this is how it was always supposed to end.

Her eyes flicker towards Tamara's grave. The woman buried there (next to Greg) had murdered August and Neal, tortured Regina and then kidnapped Henry and brought him to this horrible island for no other reason than because she had wanted power. She should hate Tamara, but she doesn't; she doesn't feel anything but sadness.

No, that's not quite accurate; Emma feels guilt as well because Tamara's blood is on her hands, and that's a stain she'll never be able to rub away. Her magic had exploded out of her and cost Tamara her again, Emma tells herself. Whatever it takes, she'll stay in control.

She won't let the magic within her do what it had done to the woman who she now watches kneeling down in front of Greg's's grave, Regina's stance an uncomfortable reminder of her very recent surrender to him.

She won't let it break her as it had broken Regina.

And, though Regina is fighting back now, she _is_ broken; bent down over Greg's grave, whispering apologies to him that he can't respond to , she shakes beneath the weight of this particular sin – one which even she can't find a suitable justifying explanation for. Her words are inaudible, but that's okay because they're between Regina and Greg, anyway. They're a final plea for forgiveness, Emma imagines; a confession and promise for amends.

Her face contorting into a frown of worry and concern when she thinks she sees tears dropping down into the dirt, she's surprised when she feels her mother's hand slide into hers and squeeze. She turns and looks at Mary Margaret, her unspoken question being answered with a warm smile and another squeeze that seems to say that it's going to be okay. She's not completely sure that she believes this, but it's damned hard to fight against the confidence she sees in her mother's eyes.

Finally, she sees Regina start to push herself up from the ground. Emma moves almost as if on instinct to help her, but Regina puts up a hand and waves her off.

"I have to do this myself," she says.

"Okay," Emma answers, stepping back.

Emma watches as Regina reaches into her pocket and extracts a small plastic keychain. It is twisted and multicolored and the former queen looks at it wistfully. She holds it up for a moment, rubs a thumb over it, and then places it against the grave. "I'm sorry," Regina whispers, her voice catching.

She tries to stand again after this, but her legs refuse her and she tumbles back to the dirt, her hands out to brace herself, her head bowed.

This time, it's Mary Margaret that steps forward.

Her arms slide around Regina's torso, and the two women exchange a look that Emma reads as pure heartbreak. Like they're both wondering how they got to the place where there's this much broken history between them. For a moment, Regina's body relaxes completely and she rests her head against Mary Margaret's shoulder, allowing the younger woman to give her support and comfort. "I'm fine," Regina finally says. "I can stand on my own."

"I know," Mary Margaret answers, but she doesn't let go just yet. When she finally does, it's reluctantly, but with a smile. She moves a few feet, back over to where Emma is and then says, "Let's get the hell off this island."

* * *

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, the former Evil Queen comes to her waking senses beneath the covers of Killian Jones's bed. She's wrapped tight, the heavy blankets pulled up over her still leather clad chest. Beneath her, she can feel the back and forth almost rhythmic rocking of what she presumes to be the _Jolly Roger_, and the part of her mind that snaps to the quickest understands that that means that they're at sea.

The rest of her mind, though, well it's a hazy blur of confusion and pain.

A nauseatingly hazy blur at that.

The moment she tries to sit up in the bed, she feels her stomach roll, and then she's pitching forward, her mouth wrenched open as if to gag. Her eyes seal tightly closed so as to try and force back the agonizing tears, which threaten to spill out, as her slim frame shakes and shudders.

Thankfully, there's absolutely nothing in her belly, and all she does is dry heave for a few long painful moments before her trembling body resets.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," she hears from somewhere around her. She forces her eyes open and sees Emma sitting in a wooden chair not far away from the bed. Emma looks pale and tired, but her green eyes are aware and concerned. She offers Regina a slightly awkward smile.

"What question is that, dear?" Regina manages to push out, the half-gasped words fitting uncomfortably around her oddly thick tongue. She can feel the sweat on her brow and her hands are clammy. She runs them across her pants to try and dry them off but it's likely just a wasted motion.

"How you're feeling," Emma says as she stands up. She stretches her body, wincing a bit as she moves. Regina doesn't miss the way Emma's legs shake, like she's just a bit unsteady upon them. How very odd, she thinks.

The last thing she can recall is standing over Owen's grave with Snow and Emma. Apparently, she'd lost consciousness sometime after that.

Again.

Fantastic.

"Regina," Emma says softly, drawing the former queen's eyes back up towards the sheriff. "Hey are you all right?" She's holding a ceramic cup now, and Regina wonders where it'd come from and then quickly dismisses this question as utterly unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

"I'm not," Regina admits, and yes, it hurts her pride to confess such, but the words spill out before she can stop them. She's tired of hiding behind high walls and bitter pain.

She's done with bleeding every moment of every day.

She wants peace and happiness and love and she wants to start again and feel like maybe there is something on the other side of all of this for her.

The truth will set you free? Well all right, then; let's see about it, she thinks.

"That's not a surprise," Emma tells her. She offers her the ceramic cup; there's water inside, Regina notes with bemusement. This feels a bit like a circle to her. Just yesterday, she'd collapsed in Emma's arms and awoken to finding Hook above her with a cup of water and now it's Emma in his place.

Offering support that she so desperately wants, but doesn't believe she really deserves. And yet for the second time in two days, she accepts it.

"Thank you," she murmurs as she brings the cup to her mouth. Then, "What happened on the island? How did we get back here? Is Henry all right?"

"He is. He's over there," Emma replies, pointing to a bundle lying wrapped up inside of a heap of thick wooly blankets on the ground. "He tried to stay up with me, but it's been a long day; he was dragging serious ass."

"Dragging ass; lovely phrasing as always, my dear. And my other questions? How do we get back to the ship? They burned the dinghy, didn't they?"

"Magic," Emma answers with a smirk and a dramatic wave of her hand that is supposed to mirror Rumple but actually reminds Regina more that woman that she had once watched turning letters around on some insipid TV game show or another during the former queen's first few weeks in Storybrooke.

"Rumple brought us back here?" Regina presses, looking vaguely ill again.

"To the ship, yes," Emma nods. Then, curiously, "Is that a problem? I thought he transported you across the island earlier in the night."

"He did, and no, it's not a problem. I just…I don't like the feel of his magic."

She says the words like someone might confess their deepest and most uncomfortable secret, and perhaps for her it is exactly that. She has no real desire to think about the sickening nature of her relationship with Rumple; he'd damaged her as a child might break a toy, but she'd been culpable, too for she had allowed him to do so with the song of vengeance in her heart.

"His or any at all?" Emma queries.

"If you're asking me if I can tolerate yours, the answer is…complicated."

"Because you can't stand me?"

Regina chuckles. "I'm pretty sure those days are in our past."

"They are?" Emma asks, eyebrow up.

"Are you planning on replying to everything I say with a question?"

"No. Sorry. I just…you saved me and…"

"And you saved me," Regina finishes for her. "Rumple may have brought us back to the ship, but you brought me back to life, didn't you?"

"I helped," Emma answers, frowning slightly. "I tried, anyway."

"I'm alive," Regina notes. "So I think you did more than try."

"Yeah, but…you're still injured." She motions towards the cut on Regina's forehead. She offers up an awkward smile. "So credit for half a save?"

Regina actually laughs at this. It hurts to do so because right now everything inside of her – both physical and mental - hurts, but the young almost innocent look on Emma's face is enough to inspire the mirth.

"Healing isn't an all or nothing kind of thing, Emma," the former queen states. "I was never taught how to do it well enough to heal more than a papercut, but you, my dear, you brought me back from…" she stops then, her face contorting into something painful and almost frightened.

"Regina?"

"It doesn't matter from where," she states, waving her hand in a way that's entirely dismissive of the matter. "It just matters that I'm back. Because of you. So no, I don't have an issue with your magic touching me."

"But you said it was complicated so…"

"My relationship with magic as a whole is complicated and _our_ relationship is complicated," Regina reminds her.

"Right. Obviously." She shakes her head as if disgusted with herself for missing such an obvious answer. When she does, she winces and her hand lifts up to scratch at her temple as if to rub away a pounding headache.

"Emma, you don't look well," Regina notes, changing the subject.

"I've felt better," the blonde admits. "But we're on our way home now."

Regina wrinkles her brow at this. "Are we now? I wasn't aware that we were aware of the existence of another portal that would return us to Storybrooke. My understanding was that this little trip of ours would be a one-way adventure absent us finding a jumper or another bean. Have we?"

"No, but apparently there is another way out of this place; it's the one that our friend Peter Pan had been using to get back to my world for the last…well, however the hell long he's been going there. Hook said that we just have to find the opening. Something about a seam in the wall."

"I see."

"Care to explain what that means, Your Majesty?"

Regina offers her a small smile in appreciation of the title; it's no longer an insult spilling from Emma's lips, but almost something oddly affectionate.

"Portal jumping is its own strange debate full of theories and mathematics. Jefferson understood it better than anyone else that I've ever met; even without his hat he was capable of finding seams in the thin walls between worlds. Perhaps Hook shares such a talent," she murmurs.

"And if he doesn't?"

"If he doesn't, I guess we'd better hope that Neverland has a place for us to settle down on," the former queen answers with a wry chuckle. "Because I have absolutely no intention of staying on this damned ship indefinitely."

"Yeah, I have to agree with you there," Emma admits before suddenly yawning, her hand abruptly jumping out to try and disguise the undignified sound. "I guess I should probably let you get back to sleep."

"And maybe turn in yourself?"

"Yeah. Maybe." She glances over at Henry, frowning slightly.

"I want to bring him over here," Regina says suddenly as she throws the blankets back.

"What? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I don't want my – our – son on the floor. He should be here in the bed."

Seeming surprised by her words, Emma looks at her for a long moment, their eyes meeting and Regina has the feeling like she's being probed; like Emma is searching her for any sign of a trick or some kind of deception. Her reaction is understandable, of course, because until this exact moment in town, Regina's never really offered to share their son. When she'd believed that she'd be sacrificing herself for Henry – once in Storybrooke and once on the island – she'd given him over to the blonde, but that had been different. This is about co-parenting. This is about cooperation.

Perhaps it's even about some odd form of friendship. Maybe even more .

Assuming Emma would even allow for that.

Finally, with a dramatic sigh, Emma protests with, "_You_ need to be in the bed, not him. In case you forgot, Regina, you've lost consciousness like half a dozen times over the last twenty-four hours. I probably should not be letting you sleep at all considering how scrambled your head is."

"Yeah, well, you have so let's not worry about that," Regina drawls. "Now help me get Henry back over here, will you please?"

"I'm not going to talk to you out of this, am I?"

"I hope by now you'd know better than to even try."

"I do," Emma admits with a chuckle as she steps aside and allows for Regina to move in front of her and lead the way towards Henry.

* * *

It's a cold morning and the feel of David's arms around her are more welcome now than they've ever been. His chin is rested atop her head, and they're both just staring out at the bright blue water.

Henry is safe and sound and Regina is alive and well enough (for her, anyway) and both of them are sleeping in the captain's cabin. Both of them are resting and recuperating and both of them will be all right.

Emma, unfortunately, is another matter entirely.

She should be knocked out in her own bunk after all she'd gone through over the last few days; first losing Henry's father, then having a malevolent creature trying to destroy her mind and then finally giving up almost all of her energy in order to bring Regina back to life on the island.

She should be resting, but she's not.

Ever since Gold had returned them all to the ship in a blur of purple magic (Regina collapsed in Hook's arms and Emma leaning heavily – if reluctantly - against her father), Emma's been moving around as if possessed.

Taking care of everyone but herself.

"She's okay," David says softly, reading her mind as he always seems to be able to do. He presses a light kiss to Snow's hair, and holds her tighter.

"We need to get her to sleep," Snow answers, turning around to face him. She runs a hand across his cheek, her thumb scratching at a spot just below his left eye. He smiles at this as he always does and she feels her heart pound as hers always does when he offers her that particular expression.

She wonders how she ever got so damned lucky.

And then wonders how Regina got the other side of the coin flip.

Oh, but it wasn't a flip at all.

A flip suggests at least a somewhat random nature to the dark twists and turns that had occurred within their often-turbulent lives, and that's just not how it had all gone down. No, the truth is that they'd had unwanted help in getting to the many painful and desperate places that they'd gotten to.

Snow's green eyes track across the ship – past Hook who is at the wheel staring almost vacantly ahead – and over to where Gold is standing at the rail. He's gazing out at the water, his expression one of unhappy conflict.

She wonders if he's turning his past over in his mind. She wonders if he's counting everything up and realizing that after all he'd done and all the lives he'd twisted and turned, he'd still come out on the losing side of things.

He'd still lost his son, and this time, there isn't anything he can do to fix that. Dead is dead. Bae isn't coming back and Gold now has to find a way to move ahead with his life without the hope of ever seeing his boy again.

She feels for him even though she knows she shouldn't. This is a man whose gross and varied manipulations had drastically altered the course of so many lives. Regina had been his most accomplished and successful pawn, but both she and Emma had been puppets in his circus act as well.

Sometimes willingly if not always knowingly.

She should hate the man and part of her even does, but the other part of her sees his pain and his loss and dammit if she doesn't understands exactly what flavor of hell he's going through and she empathizes.

Because if she had actually been aware – and not in a curse induced stupor for twenty-eight years - that her daughter had been lost to her and yet somewhere out there, there would have been nothing in this world or any other that would have stood in the way of her trying to get Emma back.

"She'll rest when she's ready to," David tells her. "Until then, well she's your daughter and trying to get her to do something she doesn't want to do…"

Snow laughs and swats at his chest. "I'm not that bad."

"You're impossible," he answers, his tone fond. His fingers curl into her short hair and he draws her close and presses a kiss to her forehead, his lips warm and soft against the skin there. She closes her eyes, and breathes in his heat and his comfort and the love that just radiates from him like fire.

Finally, in an almost inaudible tone, she says, "I'm worried about her."

"Emma or Regina?" he asks as he pulls away from her and allows enough distance between them for them to see each other fully.

"Both of them," she admits.

"Together or apart?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You know," David says, "Before we went ashore, Gold told me that they had a connection to one another but I didn't believe it until I saw what they did for each other over there on the island. I didn't believe him until I saw the way the two of them fought for each other to live."

"They're bound by Henry," Snow says.

"Yes," David agrees. "But I think there's more to it than that."

"More to it…how?"

"I think that at the very least, they're something of friends now," David offers up after a long moment. "And I think maybe Emma doesn't come by those easily, which means it means something. To her especially."

Snow nods her head, but doesn't say what she's thinking which is that neither does Regina. "I just want all of us happy," she announces. "I want all of us to have a chance to start over and be family and just be happy."

"Is that even really possible?" he asks.

"It needs to be. For me, for Emma, for Henry and for Regina."

She feels his arms tighten around her. "Okay," he says simply.

It's his way of telling her that he'll follow her anywhere and do anything she needs, even if it means trusting someone that he simply does not.

She leans up on her tip-toes, kisses him and tries to tell him just how much she loves him and just how very thankful she is for his support and faith.

She feels him smile against her lips.

Because he knows.

Because somewhere along the wicked and often twisted road of life, she'd won the flip of the coin that Regina had lost. Somewhere along the way, she'd found love and family and hope and Regina had watched all of those things slip away from her like sands through a broken hourglass.

She's ready for peace and forgiveness between she and her former stepmother. She wants to bury the coin, the hatchet and anything else that she can manage to get into the ground.

She likes to think that what had happened between them on the island – Regina allowing her to provide comfort in one of her darkest moments – will give them both the chance to do that because she so desperately wants to try to start over. It's selfish and as much about her as it is about Regina, but she wants to balance their ledgers and clean the blood off of them; she wants to make amends and she wants to rub the stain of darkness away from both of their hearts. Assuming that's even possible.

She wants to try. She needs to try.

"Hey, you think you're ready to try to turn in for the night?" David asks as he rubs his hands down her arms, trying to press warmth into her skin.

"It's no longer night," she says, gazing up at the quickly lightning sky.

"Fine; you ready to turn in for the morning?"

She glances back towards the cabin. "Sure. I just…want to check on them first. Make sure Emma is…I want to make sure they're both doing okay."

David nods his head, and then silently follows behind her as she leads them towards Hook's quarters. The heavy wooden door is slightly ajar, and so she just glances inside to try to see what's going on.

What she sees surprises her and doesn't.

What she sees is Henry sound asleep on the bed and both of his mothers next to him, each of their arms slung protectively over him. That they're all sharing the same bed together seems mostly unimportant – though she'd be lying if she said it didn't frighten her just a little bit - because this is more about being close to their son than being close to each other.

Still, they _are_ close to each other. Not touching, but still close.

She sighs and closes the door. "Let's go to bed," she says.

* * *

Emma opens her eyes, blinking against the streaming bright sunlight that fills Hook's cabin. There's a blanket tangled up around her feet, but she's otherwise uncovered except for the dirty clothes that she's still wearing.

She hears a grunt from beside her, and turns her head slightly.

To see Henry and then Regina.

A slightly snoring Henry is curled up against his brunette mother, his head resting heavily against her right shoulder. The positioning is rather awkward for both of them, and yet they both look like there's nowhere else that they'd rather be. Emma feels a small jolt of jealousy and then sadness at this – she finds herself wondering just how often they'd had moments like this before the book of fairytales had been given to Henry – but she quickly pushes both of these things away. Instead, she opts for just watching them and enjoying the almost calm and peaceful nature of the visual.

She enjoys just how wonderfully unguarded Regina is like this. Not suspicious of the world around her and not fearful of the people nearby. It's nice to see even if she knows damned well that the moment will end the moment the former queen's dark eyes open to take in the light again.

Emma sighs at this thought, stretching her body out as she moves. The fatigue of the previous days' events continues to cling to her, but the hours of sleep received have at least helped to make her feel like she's alive again.

And well considering how she almost wasn't thanks to the dark desires of a certain body thief named Peter Pan, well she'll gladly take this instead.

This, which apparently includes sharing a bed with her son and his mother.

A few hours earlier, their intention had simply been to move Henry to the bed, and then to each take a position on opposite sides of him on the floor, but then exhaustion had settled in on both of them and the decision to slide onto the mattress next to him had come remarkably easy.

There had been no uncomfortable conversation and not a single awkward look had been exchanged; simply a soft smile of understanding and then each of them had rolled towards their son and closed their eyes.

Like this was something so very natural to both of them.

And perhaps, it had been.

Now, watching Regina and Henry sleep curled together, she thinks that maybe _this_ is the most natural thing ever because the two of them just fit perfectly. There's no struggle for space or room between mother and son; there's just Henry against Regina and she with her arm wrapped loosely around him, providing him with the kind protection and warmth only she can. And yeah, maybe there's the jealousy again because she wants this.

She's always wanted this.

Family and love and peace.

But then, Regina's always wanted this as well, and she'd come in and taken all of that away with a swagger in her step and righteousness in her heart.

Because she'd known what was best for Henry.

Because she'd known what was best for everyone.

"You're thinking too hard, my dear," she hears. She blinks and looks across to see Regina gazing at her, her brown eyes tired but amused.

"I am," Emma admits. "Good morning. Or…actually, I think it's afternoon since we went to bed sometime around dawn."

"Mm. We're not moving."

Emma concentrates on the sway of the boat for a moment. It's gentle and rocking like the water is sliding beneath and beside it, but not like it's gliding forward, which means Regina is right; they're anchored down.

"Hook must have needed to sleep for a few hours."

"Downside of being the only one who knows how to captain a ship," Regina replies. She turns her head and looks down at Henry. Her hand slips out and she brushes hair away from his forehead, the gesture tender. "Honey," she whispers, her voice low and gentle. "Wake up, sweetheart."

His eyes blink open and he smiles at her. "Mom."

"I'm here," she answers. Then, looking up at Emma. "We both are. And so are you. Everything is all right now."

It's strange to hear such soothing and soft words from Regina. Strange and kind of incredible because the one thing she'd wanted more than anything else when she'd given up her son had been to know that the person who would hold him next would love him with everything in them.

As Emma watches mother and son gaze at each other, both of them with matching smiles, she finds herself almost wistfully thinking about her own past and all the tender moments that she hadn't shared with her own parents. It makes her sad and angry and then just…melancholy.

She should hate for Regina for those lost years, but she doesn't.

She should hate her own parents for them as well, but she doesn't.

She's sick of hating. Sick of hurting.

She just wants to start over and try to find happiness.

Maybe now that they're finally on their way home – hopefully – and everyone is safe and alive and healing, maybe now she can.

Maybe they all can.

"I'm hungry," Henry says, sounding so much like a child instead of the teenager that he almost is.

"When's the last time you ate, kid?" Emma queries.

"A couple days ago?"

"They didn't give you any food at all?" Regina asks, sounding outraged. It's enough to almost make Emma laugh because the older woman looks downright pissed off at the idea that the body snatcher and his band of weird-ass homicidal teenagers had forgotten to properly feed her son.

"Tamara gave me a granola bar," Henry replies with a weak smile.

"We need to feed you at once," Regina announces. "Up. Get up."

Henry looks over at Emma who shrugs her shoulders. "You heard your mom, kid; it's time to eat whatever gruel this ship has to offer."

Regina wrinkles her nose. "Absolutely not. Henry, up."

With a sigh, he pushes himself to his feet, fisting his hands so as to rub at his tired eyes. He looks down at the bed, then, noticing that both of his mothers are still resting atop it, though both are now sitting up at least.

"Now, you guys," he says.

The women exchange a look, and then Emma pushes herself up first. She feels the slight unsteady wobble of her legs, but they hold and then she's up. She nods to Regina as if to say, "your turn."

"Mom?" Henry asks when he notices Regina's hesitation.

"I'm fine," she assures him just before she stands up. She flashes him a bright smile, her eyes glittering. "Shall we see what the galley has to offer?"

Henry nods his head eagerly, and steps out of the cabin and into the blinding sunlight. They hear him call out for his grandmother and then race away, running across the wooden planks like this is a grand adventure.

"You all right?" Emma asks as she turns to face Regina, her voice quiet.

"Better now," Regina says softly. "The pain is less and…I'm all right. I can feel my magic starting to finally recharge and -" She frowns, then. "Henry has -"

"Something inside of him, yeah he does, and we'll deal with it, okay? Whatever it takes; I promise you, we're not going to let any harm come to him" Emma assures her. "You'll teach me, and if need be, we'll teach him."

"I don't want him knowing magic. I don't want him having it."

"Him having it may have saved your life."

"I'm not sure that's a worthy trade-off."

"It is to him."

"And to you?" Regina challenges.

Emma shrugs her shoulders. "I'm glad you're here."

It's a loaded answer, Emma knows, but then it was a loaded question and she's not sure they're ready for this conversation yet, anyway.

"We shall see," Regina drawls.

"Yeah. You ready for this?" Emma motions towards the door.

"You act like we're facing a shooting squad."

"No," Emma chuckles. "Just my parents and their constant worry about me. And you. And everything."

"Ah, yes; them." She waves her hand, then. "Don't worry, dear; it'll be fine. We all want the same thing now, don't we?"

"And what's that?" Emma queries, her eyebrow lifted.

"To get home," Regina says.

And she's right. Everything else is irrelevant beyond the desire to return to the place that most of these people have called home for twenty-eight years; Emma knows that David still harbors some dreams of returning to the Enchanted Forest but even he is on board with the plan to return to Storybrooke. Even he seems to know that that's where they all belong.

Because that's where they this little weird family of theirs fits now. That's where all of the pieces come together and make sense.

Because that's where a friendship - and perhaps eventually much more than that - between a former Evil Queen and a reluctant Savior makes sense.

"Home it is," Emma chuckles as they follow Henry out into the light.

**-FIN**


End file.
